The Ultimate Path
by NQE vash
Summary: In theory, being put into the world of Worm and fixing all the bad things that happen there seems fairly easy. In practice, it will most probably backfire spectacularly badly. As in creating a villain with Contessa's powerset and complete, functioning knowledge of the future - that badly.
1. Birth 1 01

Arc 1: Birth 1.01  
Phase 1

 **August 2003, London**

Step five, tackle him to the ground

I tried to shake off the dizziness, the nausea, the ringing in my ears, but it didn't really work. Made it worse, honestly.

I soldiered through, nonetheless. I didn't have the time to ponder, or even to _think_.

So I tackled the policeman to the ground, as fast and hard as I could out of my seated position, and managed to get him to the ground with me on top of him.

He obviously didn't imagine that the thirteen year old who was about to choke on his own blood because of some weird gas mask could be much of a threat to him.  
But I was.

Step six, trap his arms under your knees

That one was a little harder. I was a typical rich kid. No muscles to speak of, and the shaking of my hands, the nausea, the bile rising in my throat weren't helping. But I managed, just like _it_ said I would.

Step seven, punch him in the throat seven consecutive times

The bile was threatening to get out again, and it would probably come out mixed with my blood like it did before. I'd have to get the mask off if I felt it coming again.

I wondered, briefly, if it planned for my hesitation, for the mental battle I was waging.

I may have all these memories, all this information, but I was a blank slate, as far as those things go. The things that I would do here, on my "first" day, would influence heavily how the rest of my life would go.

 _How do I escape without killing anybody ?_

The number of steps tripled.

No. I didn't have the _time_ for that. I still didn't have these vital pieces of memory that would tell me exactly what it was that had happened or was happening, but I knew that every second I remained here longer than I necessarily had to meant that the odds that whatever device Cranial had used on me that was connected to this mask would give up would rise.

So the question was, was I willing to become another Mannequin, or Francis Krouse or Noelle, out of some sense of right and wrong ?

No. I wasn't.

 _One. Two. Three-_

It was strangely relieving that I knew I wouldn't need to face some kind of god in the afterlife for this.

 _Four. Five. Six-_

The light in his eyes began going out.

 _Seven._

I'm fairly sure this would've been settled with just three if my hands weren't shaking as much as they were. I'd missed at least four of those.

Step eight, take his gun and the police vest

It felt decidedly perverse to try pulling off clothes of a dead person, and I had to stop, once, to suppress the bile. I coughed instead.

More blood in the mask. I couldn't smell anything but blood now.

I let the gun rest in my hands, making me feel a mix of safety and horrified realization.

Step nine, turn around and aim at the window of the red building

I cocked the gun, tried to get my hands under control by taking a few deep breaths.

Step ten, shoot three times

 _One._

I would've worried about anybody hearing it, and I was fairly sure _somebody_ was, especially with the people that were around right now, but obviously nobody cared about some random civilian with a gun. As it was, all that happened was that I'd shot... semingly nothing.

 _Two_.

I dimly _heard_ the sound of the bullet, even though the mask was supposed to deafen me. _Saw_ a man, caucasian, land on the ground. That's what the first shot was for, then. To draw attention.

 _Three_.

Another man. Dead. Were they stupid or something ? Hadn't they _just_ seen you kill their... associate or whatever ?

Step eleven, take their gloves

I stepped around the corner, hesitant at first, and saw them both lying there, prone. Pale.

 _Three murders in six minutes._

Not more policemen, obviously.

They were the fat guy's people. He'd called them his 'Students' or something.

I dimly recalled that they were supposed to have some kind of superpower, but it obviously didn't help them much.

Well, I couldn't really fault them for it. I was basically cheating, after all.

I pulled the gloves off of both bodies hands, feeling a little less nauseous this time. Pulled on a pair and stuffed the other into the pocket of my pants, forming a lump in my pocket.

People were running in my direction.

So somebody _did_ hear me. Great.

Step twelve, enter the building next to you

The doors were open, no people inside. Evacuated, like the rest of this part of the city.

Step thirteen, enter the basement

It was obviously being used as some kind of storage room. Dusty enough to make me cough, which came out with a little blood, once again.

Step fourteen, aim your gun at her

I wasn't fast enough to make it look like precognition, but the gun was trained on her the second she stepped out from beneath the table, which made her stop in her steps. She'd obviously been about to say something.  
She looked panicked.

Afraid.

Of me ?

I looked at the broken mirror on the other end of the room for a minute.

A child with a gas mask and a police vest far too big for him, covered in blood. It made a lot of sense to be scared of me.

She was saying something, I'm sure. Her mouth was moving and she was gesticulating wildly, tears forming in her eyes. My gun still trained at her, hands shaking again.

She saw it, I think, because she stepped towards me.

Maybe she thought I was influenced ? Tainted ?

Or it was self defense ?

She obviously wasn't seeing anything but a scared thirteen year old as she began walking towards me.

Was I supposed to kill her too ?

Step fifteen, pull out the notepad and the pen

Ah. Utensils. They'd been step three.

 _It_ made me write on the notepad, and I watched, out of the periphery of my vision, as the woman stood stock still, obviously waiting for me. She was scared, now for me, too.

I'd killed three people. Was I worth her worrying ?

 _My name is Jaime Foster,_ it said. A lie.  
 _Could you look at my arm ? I think it's broken_.

My name is Ellis Butler. It hadn't been Jaime Foster in the... life before that, either, I could tell, even though my memory of that was hazy at best.

My arm hadn't even been hurt. Or touched.

My right hand was worth looking over. It was bleeding quite heavily, the latex gloves were wet by now because of it. I'd hurt myself while trying to kill that policeman.

Why would she help with a broken arm in the first place ?

The woman nodded, though. Plastered a hopeful, halfhearted smile on her face, told me to sit in the chair as she pulled out a bag of medical utensils.

Ah. A nurse.

I pulled off my left glove while she was rummaging throug her bag.

The Path told me to tip her on the shoulders.

I knew what that meant.

What would happen.

Not exactly, but I could make a guess.

The fat man, he'd been using his powers when it happened to me.

I hazily recalled something about _pinging_. About gaining a variation of somebody's power if you gained your own powers in his immediate vicinity.

Those 'Students' of his seemed, acted and talked like subordinates. Like slaves.

Would I be brainwashing that woman ?

I did it, nonetheless.

Tipped her on the shoulder, twice.

When she looked towards me, she seemed to be slightly dazed. Horribly confused, too.

Susceptible.

I took the scalpel she had in her hands like step eighteen told me to.

Was she planning to kill me ?

I tried asking, remembered that I couldn't. Sounds don't enter or leave the mask, Cranial had said.

I wrote it down instead, on the notepad.

 _Were you trying to kill me ?_

She was still dazed, but nodded as I showed it to her.

It made the next step far easier than it would've been if she was trying to help me.

I put my gun, the handle red by now, into her hands, closed her palm around it because it looked like she would drop it otherwise.

I ripped my question out of the notepad, wrote down step twenty.

 _Take your phone out. Set the timer for two minutes and thirty seconds. Three people will enter this basement. Shoot them all, shoot yourself afterwards._

There was a brief moment in which it looked like she was going to shake off whatever I'd done to her, before she began to nod. Hesitantly.

I'd have thought she'd broken free, but my Path told me she'd do it. And she'd do it better than I could, because I'd just granted her enhanced proficiency with handguns.

I wrote another note, stuffed it next to the untouched gloves into my pocket.

I pondered the topic of synergy, chemistry, as I dashed up the stairs, then another set of stairs to locate the main bedroom.

Did she just get the power that was most useful for the situation she'd be facing, or did my Path to Victory actively influence it ?

Further, was what I did flatout mind control, or was it easier because she'd been rendered inherently susceptible by the Endbringer hovering in the air ?

Probably the latter. The fat man's students didn't look like they had no free will at all. More like willing subjects than mindless slaves.

On the other hand, that meant I was, for the duration of time I'm going to be here, a fairly effective mind controller.

It didn't lift my mood by a lot.

Step twenty-three, jump out the window

I landed softer than I'd imagined it, on an old, smelly mattress.

A man flew by towards the battle as I watched him from the backyard.

More dominoes for her to use. What a flawless plan.

I didn't have to wait long until they came. Three more people, dressed like the other two I'd already killed.

'Students'

They ran into the house. They'd run into the basement. And then they'd die.

 _Seven_.

I wondered, briefly, if I'd already eclipsed Sophia's future kill count.

The next few steps were all directions. The outskirts of the city, where the King's Men and the local police department were desperately trying, and failing, to take control of the situation.

They'd erected a fence around the area, but it was low. It would be easy to jump over, if I wasn't as physically exhausted, weighed down and nauseous as I was.

And even then, the police was probably patrolling the surroundings. The exits.

And my Path knew this. I wasn't good enough at using it yet to tell in advance what the next steps would be, or what the end result would be. I wasn't as good at this as Contessa was, worse even than when she first gained it.

My steps were completed slowly and not at all methodically. I was slow, panting, sweating, shaking, dizzy and undescribably tired.

But I couldn't just _stop_ , because the Path _existed._ That meant that there _was_ a way out.

Two more policemen, far better equipped than the first one I'd met. A rifle, a gun, a taser an a headset. Probably telling them when to get out of there.

They were working on another fence, pulling steel wire and binding it around a street light.

They'd hear me if I got any closer than this, I was sure.

My steps were all _exhausting_ , the police vest was rocking back and forth, hitting my kneecaps again and again becasue it was far too big. I was making a _lot_ of noise.

Step thirty-one, approach the policemen

The Path didn't seem to care too much about that.

I shook off the hesitation because I just couldn't _afford_ it. Every second I was here was a second too much, and I knew for a _fact_ that the Path to Victory was always right.

I was hesitating, doubting and stalling because I was tired to the bone, because I was afraid there were more people to kill, because I was scared the Path wouldn't plan for me tripping up and getting shot in the head.

They turned towards me as soon as I began approaching, easily hearing me.

Their mouths were moving, too.

The sensation of _seeing_ that somebody was saying something, but not being able to _hear_ it was a strange one.

One of them poised his rifle at me. He looked like he was yelling.

He certainly had reason to shoot. I couldn't have gotten the police vest from a homeless shelter, after all.

I didn't stop approaching, because I wasn't supposed to.

The man cocked the rifle. He was definitely yelling now. The other man was saying something to him, gesturing at me.

And then, step thirty-two, I began running.

I almost tripped as I saw him pull the trigger.

Step thirty-three, dodge two steps to the left

The first few bullets didn't hit me. Too far to the right. A mixture of shock and apprehension was written in his face.

He was a newbie, probably. Or he'd never actually thought he'd have to shoot at kids.

The next few bullets _would've_ hit me if I hadn't strayed to the left three seconds prior.

My head was pounding. I felt a migraine coming. The scent of copper inside the mask, the texture of _blood_ covering my nose, my lips, my chin made it all worse.

The other man was about to lift his gun when I pulled out the note from my pocket, showing it at the second man instead of the first specifically.

It didn't matter what was written on the note, either, because I'd used that moment of confusion the first one had, in which he briefly thought about what the note could be saying, to slap him square in the face.

I used the momentum to do the same to the second one, who was far too confused about all of this to really do anything.

And then I collapsed to the ground, my legs giving up. I had to push down the bile again, dropped the notepad twice as I tried to formulate another note.

Dropped the pen thrice.

The first note came out absolutely unreadable, so I tried again.

The second seemed better to me, but wasn't readable by _them_.

The third one worked.

 _Gun,taser 2 me. 14Min 41sec: Kill evrbody U c w/ rifle b4 U off urslves_

I didn't wait to see if it had sunk in after they gave me a taser and a handgun because I knew it'd work or the Path wouldn't make me do this otherwise.

The thought that I'd be here for fifteen more minutes wasn't very reassuring either way.

As I began humping down another alley, I wondered how many people they'd get.

I didn't even know what powers I'd just granted them, but that wasn't something I could spend a lot of thought on.

I entered another abandoned building, step thirty-seven, made sure to leave a trail of blood on the floor, which wasn't particularly hard, and hid in the closet.

And waited.

And _thought._

It was among the worst things I'd had to do so far.

Pieces of the puzzle were coming together, but there was still far too much missing for me to make any solid assumptions.

My name is Ellis Butler, I'm thirteen years old.

I had also been, as far as I can tell, an insane person. Or at least on my way to being one.

I couldn't really explain it any better.

I'd hired a mercenary to delete _extremely large_ parts of my memory, basically turning me into a shell of a human being.

I also made him attach some kind of mask that looked like it was straight out of a Cyberpunk novel to my head, but that one made _a little_ sense. This thing had wires that ran straight into my brain from through my nose, and Cranial was a neurological tinker, from what he'd said, so I presumed that this was supposed to be a defense mechanism, among other things.

It was also what had... done this to me.

I'd woken up, writhing in pain, in the middle of a quarantined London.

The mask could make me _feel_ things. It made me... I still don't remember the word. The mask turned me into a superhe- into a parahuman.

The chance of being a superhero without being a liar was-

 _Path_

-nonexistent.

My main power, the Path to Victory, was as scary a power as it gets. I wouldn't trust anybody who had this power, and I'm technically just thirty minutes old.

People couldn't know if they liked me because I was likable, or because they were being manipulated. It was a power that would generate paranoia wherever it went.

And my secondary power wasn't much better. Thinker or tinker powers in exchange for falling under my influence.

My powers made me untrustable, I had no history to comfort or assure anybody with and I'd just given an order that would see dozens of people die.

And beyond that, I wasn't even sure if joining the superheroes would've been a good idea. I pulled the note out of my right pocket, straightening it and being careful not to smear any text with my bloody gloves.

 _17 Wilton Crescent, Belgravia. Family is not at home._  
 _There is a red notebook under my bed, it will explain everything._  
 _Until you have read it: Do not trust anybody_

 _Do not trust anybody._

Step thirty-eight, aim at the lights and shoot twice

Somebody was here.

Not just somebody.

The man had a regal bearing, managing to look elegant even in a light blue bodysuit.

A cape. One of the King's Men.

I'm supposed to kill a cape ?

This was pretty much my last way out.

 _Path: How to convince him I'm one of the good guys_

Eighty-five steps.

 _Path: How do I get to join the King's Men_

One hundred twenty-seven steps.

Step one, hide the gun beneath the clothes in the closet  
Step two, step out of the closet, hands raised in the air

 _Don't trust anybody_.

I shot at the lights, twice.

The first hit the cape in the shoulder.

The recoil threw me back a little, which made the second shot hit home. The light bulb shattered into a thousand pieces, raining down on him.

Step forty, step out of the closet  
Step forty-one, shoot him with the taser

The cape seemed surprised. Not by the fact that I was _there_ , but by my appearance.

He hadn't expected a boy, so the taser hit him square in the chest.

His mouth contorted in pain, but he managed to get away and held out his hand.

Electricity.

It sruck me straight in the chest, and maybe I would've died because of it – no, most probably I would've died because of it – if the police vest hadn't been in the way.

I stumbled a little, and pressed my advantage.

Step forty-two, shoot him

It struck home, the bullet burying itself straight in his chest, making him fall to the ground.

But he was still alive.

Alive and... trying to say something.

I leaned in, hearing him wheeze and pant.

"-nd tell my son..."

I felt nauseous again. It was harder to suppress the urge to throw up now then it had ever been. My vision swam and my head was pounding.

And it made me angry.

So I shot him again. And again.

Until the gun didn't have any ammo left.

I'd buried five more bullets in him, even though I'd fired seven.

I was left with a feeling of profound emptiness afterwards, like I'd puked until there was nothing but air left in me.

My head was still ringing, but it felt very _hollow_ , as if it was totally empty.

I'd just killed a superhero. And claiming it was a result of panic isn't very feasible when you've shot somebody eight times.

I pulled the police vest off, the Path telling me it wasn't needed anymore, and let it drop on top of him.

I tried telling myself that he probably would've died anyway, but it didn't really hold up. I had no idea how long he'd been in here.

But I couldn't linger on that.

It was time to escape.

I took a brief glance out of the window as a noise managed to get through the mask.

A screech, it sounded like.

And I watched, as the newly arrived Triumvirate began fighting the Simurgh.


	2. Birth 1 02

**Arc 1: Birth 1.02**

 **London, 3 days earlier**

I couldn't put it off anymore. Not when everything seemed to be aligning so perfectly, not when the perfect situation was basically dropped into my lap.

I couldn't put it off, even though I just _wasn't prepared._

I'd promised myself that I'd prepare. That I'd take up martial arts, or go hunting to learn how to handle a gun, or travel the world a little to get a picture of all the Parahuman communities.

I'd tried going to the gym for a while, and then I'd relapsed.

It was hard not to, when you're rich, spoiled and have everything you could want within arms reach.

All I'd done was join a chess club and become a fairly mediocre player at it.

But I still couldn't put it off.

Teacher was in town, and if I remembered right, that meant he was here to gather intel for his eventual hit on the Prime Minister.

If I didn't do it now, I'd never do it.

I looked at the number I'd written down.

The number of a mercenary called Cranial, member of the Toybox. Tinker, specialized in neurology.

You could get your hands on just about anything if you had the money to pay for it.

I dialed the number, slowly, hands shaking, and briefly stopped to think if I shouldn't find a more secure line. A public payphone or something.

I shook my head.

It didn't really matter. I'd never come back here, after all.

"Yes ?"

The voice was gruff, harsh, demanding. Suspicious, too.

I swallowed, to keep the stutter out of my voice.

I failed.

"M-my name is Ellis Butler. I need.. things."

I sounded pathetic.

And the man confirmed it. He laughed.

"Everybody does. What is it you want, kid ?"

I held the phone away from myself for a moment, taking a few deep breaths.

This was the point of no return.

"I need more than a few things. I need you to delete a lot of my memories. I need a... device that can interfere with my senso- with my hearing," I told him.

The few seconds he took to reply felt like the longest amount of time I ever had to wait for something.

"Delete memories ? Your schoolyard crush not talking to you anymore, brat ?"

 _A little more complicated than that._

"Does it matter ?" I asked instead.

The man chuckled. It sounded scary.

"You know I cost more than a few bucks, right ?"

I looked at the door of my room, imagined the face of my mother, my father, my sister.

They weren't my first family, but they _were_ family, nonetheless.

"Yes. I can pay for it. There's more, though."

I can't pay for it. But my family can.

"Well get on with it, kid," he said, beginning to sound irritated.

"I heard you can cause trigger events," I said.

He laughed, louder this time.

"Yes, yes I can !" He exclaimed joyously.

No, he can't.

He just advertises it.

Nobody who wants a trigger event can have one.

But that wasn't public knowledge yet.

"Tell you what, kid. I'll met with you in a few days. I'll give you a call."

My eyes widened, and I spoke before he could hang up.

"Wait ! What do you mean, you'll _meet_ with me ?"

The man laughed again, and this time it was scarier than the last, because of the implications it brought with it.

"I just had a friend check your background, Ellis. Rich parents, rich neighborhood. I said I'll give you a call."

That was that.

I narrowly avoided throwing the phone against the wall, because this is about what I'd been expecting.

Instead, I tried to calm down again.

Go through the plan.

If everything went right, Cranial would have something for me that could technically block me from hearing the Simurgh's 'singing'. He'd also delete my knowledge of trigger events, so I could have one in the first place, as well as a lot more.

I picked up the picture next to my bed.

A family picture.

Stewart, Lena, Elia and Ellis.

I was smiling brightly, there. A few years ago.

Back when I thought everything would just _handle itself_.

I wasn't as naive now.

Now, I was desperate.

My plan was... riddled with holes, honestly.

For this to work, Cranial couldn't only delete my memories of trigger events, but _a lot_ more.

Knowledge of the future. I couldn't just walk around with the knowledge of Crazy Scion or Khepri in the vicinity of the Simurgh.

Everything that could be used would have to go.

I'd written down pretty much the entire plot of worm into a red notebook, along with my whole plan.

What I didn't write down was anything about _myself_.

If this worked, I'd be a Simurgh trigger. Villains and heroes alike would try to come after me if it was found out. After my family, too. And I couldn't pretend that I'd be able to protect them.

I wasn't very inclined to believe I'd get an Alexandria package or something like that, and I also wasn't very optimistic about anything at this point.

I'd have to forget about them.

About every friend I made, about that crush I have, about the times I went to the beach with my sister.

Become a blank slate.

I'd overheard one of Teacher's students, who honestly aren't as smart as their titles would make you believe, talking about Teacher and some of his men scouting a specific part of London.

The part where, if I remember correctly, the Simurgh is supposed to arrive.

I'd trigger next to him, he and his students would be out of commission because of my triggering and wouldn't be able to pick me out amongst all the chaos when seconds later, the Simurgh arrives.

Even if I didn't get a power that would help me get out of the area immediately, pinging off of Teacher would ensure that I'd get out.

But there was _so much_ that could go wrong.

If Cranial decided he'd rather just have my money, I'd be alone in the middle of a battlefield. Dead.

If his device worked, but not long enough, I'd be at the mercy of the Simurgh. Ticking timebomb.

If Teacher recovered faster than I hoped, I'd be at _his_ mercy. Life as a slave.

Or some random policeman could just gun me down.

The biggest fear, though, the fear that had kept me up at night, driven me to despair multiple times, was the thought _What if that's not what you're meant to be ?_

 _What if you're supposed to be the normal guy who helps people, guides things and makes Worm a better place ?_

The thought made me nauseous.

In that case, I'd have thrown my life away.

But I _had_ to try.

I couldn't live with the knowledge that I _could have_ but _didn't._

And the chances would never be any better than this.

I'd trigger in the middle of a battlefield, get combat experience immediately.

I'd written instructions down in my notebook, about future plans.

Who'm to make friends with, who'm to steer clear of.

I'd have to make sure I knew not to just, I don't know, surrender to the King's Men.

They were being funded by Cauldron, and if _Cauldron_ got me...

I scribbled down a note.

 _Don't trust anybody._

Then I added my adress, to make sure I'd find the notebook.

I'd travel to Brockton Bay and become a vigilante, striking up a friendship with Miss Militia, maybe helping Armsmaster out of his funk by keeping him on his toes.

I'd wait it out, help during the Endbringer fights, try to unveil Cauldron's machinations, and _then_ I could join the Protectorate.

Eventually, I'd be a hero.

Maybe I could even get somewhere with Miss Militia.

I'd save the world.

I'd be able to love myself.

* * *

 **Now**

I hate myself.

It was the third time – I think – that I'd had that thought.

I was calmer now. Not _calm_ , but definitely calmer.

Calm enough to think about the events that led me to my 'creation', and calm enough to classify them as the work of an idiot.

"'Ve got whatcha asked for, Boss," she exclaimed happily.

It nettled me quite a bit.

I gestured to the ground, and she dropped the bag she'd been holding in her hands.

 _What's ur name ?_

It also annoyed me that she seemed borderline illiterate.

"Cassandra, but you can call me Cass', Boss." She winked after that.

I had to sigh, though she wouldn't hear it either way.

I wasn't about to call anybody anything as long as this mask was on.

And getting it off wasn't easy either.

I'd been about to rip it off as soon as I escaped the quarantine, but had the common sense to at least check it.

Unfortunately, just _ripping_ off something that was hooked up with your brain was, apparently, _harmful._

I put the scalpel that I'd taken from the nurse lady and put it into her hands after showing her another preprepared note.

 _Pour the water over my head_  
 _Incision here, here and here_

I marked the places she was supposed to cut with the marker she'd brought, among other things.

As I began lightly pulling at the mask, I pondered about the fact that I didn't really like this plan.

The whole 'letting a random homeless lady make incisions on my head' part in specific.

 _But_ beggars can't be people who get incisions from surgeons or something like that, so I'd have to make do.

I pulled out the next preprepared note and held it in front of her.

 _RELAX_

The order sunk in and the smile faded a little, her demeanor becoming a bit more serene.

I was a bit scared about how long my 'thrall' over her would hold, to be honest.

She'd been the last person I'd used my power on while still boosted by the Simurgh, so it should, theoretically, hold _long_ , but _how_ long ?

How long did my thralls generally, without any boosts, hold ?

Questions, questions.

The water poured over my head, and I had to _fight_ to keep myself from falling unconscious.

The mask was filled with blood and water now, and it was entering my body through my nose.

I was getting dizzy again, darkness seeping into the edges of my vision.

I could dimly feel the first cut, above the mask, where my forehead transitioned into my scalp.

I couldn't feel the next one.

Step twelve, claw into your arm with your nails

And I did. Until it _really, really_ hurt. Until I _felt_ that I drew blood, until-

The mask was ripped from my face, and I had to throw up on the ground before me, mostly just blood and air, as _wires upon wires_ were ripped out of my nose.

And then I threw up again.

And again.

Until nothing but air and wheezing breaths came out of my mouth and the ground in front of me was painted red.

The next pouring of water over my head followed that, and I managed to shake off the rest of my nausea with that.

That didn't mean all of my problems were solved, because I was now even more _so very tired_. My body, whatever I'd done with it before, wasn't _used_ to this.

To murder, to cutting it up and bruising it and punching and clawing and _wires in my nose._

She – Cassandra – held out the bag in front of me, but I pushed it aside.

"Not-"

I tried to talk, but didn't manage.

I had to cough again, bringing out a little more blood.

I was happy I hadn't lost consciousness yet at the rate at which I was loosing blood.

"Not here," I wheezed out, gesturing at the bloodied ground.

I tried to stand up, fell into the puddle of blood I'd created, tried again and managed with Cassandra's help.

She put my arm over her shoulders and pulled me across the alley, putting me down again afterwards and letting the bag rest next to me.

"Ya okay, Boss ?" She asked.

I just nodded, not even trying to articulate a response.

Instead, I pulled off the gloves that by now looked like they were naturally red, still dripping with blood, and put them next to me.

The Path was telling me I wasn't just supposed to throw them away, which is a conclusion I would've probably reached, too, if I'd been thinking straight.

As I was, I was basically a puppet for my Path, which I knew to be highly dangerous.

Overdependence on my shard would turn me into something like Contessa.

Zero personality, one hundred percent supercomputer.

My body was running on nothing but survival instinct. My limbs were weak at best, useless at worst.

I pulled off the vest and shirt I'd been wearing, pulling on the plain white shirt. It took me two minutes. I looked at Cassandra's throwaway phone for confirmation.

I struggled a lot more with my pants, but that was done as well, exchanged with tight black ones.

I pulled on the other pair of gloves, which were still forming a lump in my pocket and then stood up, slowly this time.

I grabbed into the bag, avoiding falling down as I ducked to look into it, and grabbed the cheap deodorant, spraying every part of my body with it, repeatedly, until it was empty.

I smelled like the ugliest plant on earth, but I suppose it's better than smelling like twenty corpses.

 _Fourty-two corpses. When they ran amuck, they killed thirty-three people, thirty-five, themselves included. Fourty-two dead people._

I hooked my left arm into Cassandra's right, which made us look a little like sister and brother, I guess, but mostly just for support. I highly doubted I'd be able to walk much on my own.

The train ride was quiet, the mood somber. People mostly kept away from the weird smelling boy and his sister, who looked like a hobo.

A TV in a store window was showing the news, so I stopped briefly, Cassandra in tow, to listen.

 _"- and the effects of it are already felt. Two men, loyal, honest and hard-working members of the Metropolitan Police Service, went mad under it's effects-"_

I shook my head, dragging Cassandra along to get us moving again.

We were certainly out of place here. Belgravia, the most expensive part of London.

I'd given it up for-

 _Wires in my nose, strings everywhere_

-superpowers.

Not many people were out on the street, so we didn't get many weird looks as we approached the mansion.

17 Wilton Crescent.

I hesitated, looked at the Path for confirmation, then just rang the bell.

"Hello ?"

Hello ?

God, I hope whoever that was, he wasn't one of those overly suspicious butlers.

I didn't really feel like I was up for that.

"It's Ellis. Open the door."

It clicked open, quietly, and Cassandra basically dragged me to the door, up the few stairs.

"Ellis, my dear, you look-"  
 _Path: Make him shut the fuck up_

Step one, pull out the gun in your-

Yeah, let's forget about that.

I ignored him nonetheless, dragging Cassandra along with me.

"And whoever is this lady ? You know what your mom thinks about your... preferences in friends, Ellis, this one-"

I shut the door behind us, made sure nobody else was around, and then I tasered him.

Kicked him when he was lying on the ground, unconscious and twitching, for good measure.

I really didn't feel like dealing with this, so I just strode into my room.

I knew it was mine because there was a sign there.

 _Ellis' Room._  
 _Parent-free zone._

It was surreal.

I had three consoles, a flatscreen, a king sized bed, my own phone, five different, ornate and expensive looking chess sets and a mahogany chair.

 _Fuck this guy._

I threw myself on the bed, sighing deeply.

"Cassandra, there's supposed to be a notebook under this thing. Get it for me."

A red notebook.

It was thick, too.

I honestly didn't know what I was expecting, but certainly not what I found.

The first few pages were the outline of my- _his-_ 'brilliant plan'.

Forget everything about everybody, rob your family and hire a dangerous mercenary to-

 _Wires in my nose, the strings go on forever_

-mess with your brain in the company of a known and very, very accomplished murderer.

It made me angry.

This guy was talking about what had happened to me like it was _easy._

 _Strings everywhere_

The pages after that, pretty much most of the notebook, was titled 'Worm'.

I knew what that meant, at least.

It was summaries, chapter for chapter,

I didn't have the time to read through them all, so I skipped to the end, marked by a golden bookmark.

 _For the Future:_  
 _Travel to Brockton Bay: Saving Dinah, making sure Taylor has a friend after she triggers,_  
 _helping the Protectorate without joining them bc. of Cauldron._

I stopped there.

Skipped the next few pages.

 _Shouldn't be too hard to get money: Make sure family gets the money you stole back. Anonymous donations maybe ? ;)_

"Cassandra, I need a lighter."

I ripped out the middle portion of the notebook, the actually important part, and pressed them into Cassandra's hands.

And then I burned the pages, one by one.

 _Potential GFs: Miss Militia, def-_

That page went first.

Relationship advice.

Then a page about how to help a guy called _Armsmaster_.

A page about what to do when the Leviathan came to Brockton Bay.

 _How to save the Travelers_.

 _Maybe tell Lisa the truth when you join the Undersiders ?_

I left the bed with a sort of detached feeling, and then I set fire to the expensive blankets, the pillow, the clothes in my closet.

I left the room with Cassandra, watching the fire burn through the room.

And I stewed on the cold anger that began to settle in my gut.

"Boss, I don't think we have very long before somebody notices this," Cassandra told me.

She whispered it, though. She'd probably noticed my mood.

 _Path: How do we escape without being noticed ?_  
 _Path: How do I cover up my involvement ?_

I started the Paths without even thinking about them.

"Cassandra, kill the butler."

She held out the scalpel, still covered in my blood, nodded, left my vicinity.

I'd entertained the thought of becoming a hero, on my way here.

I'd have to lie, to manipulate, pull strings, but it would've worked.

Maybe I would've even become a fairly good one.

But I wasn't going to. Out of pettiness.

 _Path: How do I kill the Travelers ?_  
 _Path: How do I kill Armsmaster ?_  
 _Path: How do I kill the Undersiders ?_  
 _Path: How do I kill Taylor Hebert ?_

Out of spite.

 **A/N: So yeah, he's obviously not going to become a hero.**  
 **I'd like to clarify this, because I don't know if I did a well enough job of showing it, but it's not because of the fact that he had to murder dozens of people, but because of the wires. He's basically what amounts to a 'newborn', so the thing with the wires really fucked him up. Traumatized for life, pretty much.**


	3. Birth 1 03

**Arc 1:Birth 1.03**

 **London, 2005**  
 **2 years after the Simurgh attacked London, Ellis is now 15**

Jeremy Walston liked to think he was a smart man.

It wasn't easy to be a cape in the King's Men, but he managed. Was fairly successful, even.

But he had to admit that he was way out of his depth with this one.

"Jeremy, it's confirmed. We found the card," he heard.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

His co-worker held a card in her hands. A Tarot card, signed by him.

 _FORTUNA_ , written in big, bold, red letters.

He sighed as he looked at it, feeling the strength leave his body.

The King's Men weren't equipped to deal with something like this.

They'd failed.

"Did we get word from the Protectorate ?" He asked her.

She shook her head, the stress and worry easy to see on his face.

"They say they have their hands full and this isn't big enough to warrant direct intervention," she told him.

"Not big enough ? This _Fortuna_ is breaking the Unwritten Rules ! Doesn't that mean anything to them ?"

She looked at him in pity, just shaking her head.

He didn't stick around, entering the crime scene instead.

It was definitely Fortuna's M.O.

He left a Tarot card, sigend by him, at his targets home _exactly_ seven days prior.

And the King's Men _knew_ that. Anton McKenna had been put under the protection of three of his co-workers, all capes.

Not enough.

They were all dead.

Four bullets, each embedded into their foreheads with an eery precision.

 _It didn't make sense._

Maria's power was area of effect precognition.

She should've _seen it coming._

But she didn't. She was dead, instead.

And he'd suspected it would happen.

Fortuna was growing in fame by the day. The rumors of his fees ranged from exorbitant to downright absurd.

No assassin of that caliber would tell people when he was going to kill them if he wasn't _absolutely sure_ he could do it regardless.

"Jeremy !"

Jeremy had never been that happy to see one of his superiors.

"The higher-ups are concerned about this guy. The Unwritten Rules exist for a reason."

Jeremy just nodded.

"Come, walk with me," the man invited him, "and tell me everything you have on this guy."

Jeremy nodded, coughed, to get himself together.

"Two years ago, when the Simurgh attacked London, a boy escaped the area. We don't actually have any visual, and just two eyewitness accounts from policemen who were patroling and saw him leave. A boy, they said, who was wearing some form of mask and-"

"They didn't investigate ?"

"No, Sir. They told us they thought he didn't even _exist_. They saw him for a very brief amount of time, not nearly enough to get a clear picture, and figured it was just exhaustion... or-"

"Or the Simurgh."  
Jeremy nodded, hesitantly this time.

"Or the Simurgh, yes. One year after that, _Fortuna_ first appeared. A cheap mercenary, letting the villains kill their enemies without having to do it themselves."

"Without breaking the rules."

"Yes, without breaking the rules. Our thinkers linked him to the Simurgh escapee, but they aren't entirely sure what the connection is yet. Anyway, it didn't take very long for word to get around. An assassin, seemingly with a flair for the dramatic, what with the tarot cards and the preparation time he gives his enemies. He became more and more famous, until-"

"Until last year. February."

"Yes, February. The first time Fortuna killed a cape. It immediately put him above every other assassin on the market, because capes generally _aren't_ assassins. It didn't take more than a month  
until the whole country began trying to hire him, throwing every pound they have at him."

"And now we're here. We have an assassin who believes he's above the rules and continues to get away with it, makes boat loads of money of it, in fact. This needs to stop. Go home, Jeremy. I'll call you on monday, you'll be part of this."

"Of what, Sir ?"

"A special task force. This guy needs to be taken down."

Jeremy nodded, feeling more and more nervous.

He shook hands, said his goodbyes, entered his car in the alley he parked it at.

He pulled out a cigarette, sticking it into his mouth.

Except... he couldn't find his lighter.

A cloud of smoke blew past him.

"Hi Jeremy."

The boy in the backseat smiled at him.

A boy, black hair and blue eyes, with a red hoodie and tight black pants.

Jeremy's eyes widened and he, reflexively, activated his power.

His vision became blurry and a feeling of disorientation swelled within him, and then...

 _"More trouble than you're worth, really. I'll just ask somebody else."_

 _BANG_

Fortuna.

The boy behind him was Fortuna, and in exactly five minutes from now, he would kill him.

He couldn't afford to die.

His daughter needed him. His wife didn't have a job. He wasn't anywhere near-

"You don't need to die, Jeremy," the boy told him.

He leaned back in his seat, sighing, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Jeremy tried to be stealthy as he put his hands on the holster of his gun.

His vision swam again.

 _BANG._

If he drew his gun, he'd die in twelve seconds instead of five minutes.

A gun wouldn't work, then.

Jeremy removed his hand from his holster. Tried to take it the other way.

"What do you want from me ?"

The kid – Fortuna, not a kid – seemed to snap up at that, as if he was surprised he was still around.

He certainly didn't look very healthy. A sickly, pale complexion, dark eyebags, very thin stature.

Fortuna grabbed into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper, and straightened it out so he could see it from the rearview mirror.

It was a list.

Scheduled meetings. Time, place, date, nature of the event.

 _3rd. In 3 days; When u r leaving 4 work; in front of your home; bumping into each other_

Twenty-five meetings in total.

"You can influence people," Jeremy noted.

It was obvious. There was no other reason for Fortuna to schedule these events.

The boy only seemed to be listening with half an ear.

"Yeah, I can. Listen, Jeremy, I know you've already conjured up all those ideas of what I'm here for, so let me nip them all in the bud. I don't care about your task force or your role in it, I don't care about yor co-workers or your friends, I don't even want to know what you guys have on me. What I want is access to certain files when I need them, so you'll just... I don't know, print them out, censor what you don't want me to know, and then give them to me. Does that sound sensible to you ?"

It didn't.

It sounded like high treason.

"I, uh, I'll think about it, yeah ?"

That should give him enough time to find the right people to talk to.

The boy sighed again, louder and a little more agitated than the last time, so Jeremy used the reprieve to activate his power to -

 _arrive home to a dead family. His wife was hanging from the ceiling, bound to the fan by cables and wires. His daughter, at least, was spared the torture. A single, clean shot had ended it for her._  
 _And then a single, clean shot ended it for himself._

"I'll do it," he said.

Sweat was accumulating everywhere, panic rising in his chest.

 _Of course it's not that easy. If he was that easy to handle, we would've gotten him already. Jeremy, you idiot._

The boy raised a tired eyebrow at him, shaking his head slightly and opening the car door.

"Tomorrow, Jeremy. Be on time."

* * *

I threw myself on the couch as soon as I arrived.

"You're getting worse."

I looked at Cassandra as she approached, slightly tilting my head in this direction and that, inspecting my eyelids, my lips.

"What do you plan to do about it ?"

 _I don't know_ , I wanted to say, but didn't.

I was good enough to to see every step of a Path now, but not if the Path itself was too long.

Information overload, probably.

 _Path: Immortality_

Two thousand eight hundred fifty-five steps.

I dismissed the matter, trying to force myself to focus on what was truly important right now.

"Did it begin already ?"

She shook her head.

"No, the news are mostly about Shatterbird being sighted in the UK, but it hasn't begun yet."

She turned on the TV, settled next to me on the couch.

I was _exactly_ on time, because the second we turned on the TV, it began.

 _"- reports from Newfoundland coming in. Apparently, the Leviathan has been spotted and it started a rampage along the coast."_

I sighed again.

 _This_ was what was stressing me out.

I picked up the suit of tarot cards on the small table, began to shuffle them.

It helped a little with the nerves.

"Pick," I told Cassandra.

"The Magician."

 _Path: Drawing the Magician_

Nine steps.

"The Fool."

 _Path_

"The Empress."

 _Path_

"The Sun."

 _Path_

Six seconds for each.

It had been practice, at first.

To gain some kind of fluidity.

It had become kind of a routine.

 _"- doesn't seem like it'll solve it. Inhabitants are desperately waiting for the Prot-"_

I was witnessing Dragon's origin story.

But I couldn't just wait for however long it took, so I stood up.

My apartment was fairly modest, in an area that wasn't as inhabited as the rest of London. Five rooms. It was... qauint. And enough, really.

I entered my room, confronted with the twenty-two neatly stacked red notebooks that were lying on my table.

 _Path: Pick notebook 1-0-7_

I sank onto my bed, paging through it.

 _LONG TERM PATHS_

 _1: How do I defeat Contessa [Failed: PtV against PtV doesn't work ?]_  
 _1: How do I get strong enough to defeat Siberian in a one-on-one scenario [three hundred eighty-four steps]_  
 _2: Immortality [two thousand eight hundred fifty-five steps]_

There were more, and the number was rising.

I wrote them all down to make sure the numbers wouldn't increase without me noticing _and_ to make sure that I could have some kind of... distance from them, if I wanted to.

Cassandra came into my room, then.

"It's happened. Newfoundland is sinking."

I sighed again.

 _Path: Throw this so it perfectly lands on the top of the outermost stack_

Twenty-three steps, including how to angle my hands, how to focus my eyes, what to think about, in what arch and with what power to throw.

It landed perfectly.

Twenty-three steps in five seconds.

"Make the call," I told her.

I'd spend tons of time learning how to perfect this power.

Used countless paths to do it, too.

 _Path: How do I get better at using my primary power_

It had been the longest one I'd followed and completed.

Two-hundred eighty-eight steps.

Including private tutoring on parahuman studies and maths, reading countless books about anatomy, biology, medicine, going to the gym, learning karate, Krav Maga, Aikido, fencing, boxing.

I didn't spend nearly as much time with my secondary power, because there just wasn't really a way to.

I could thrall a person to be susceptible to me and it would hold for about fourty-eight hours, after which they'd _remember_ what I did.

So I had to A: murder them or B: make sure I put them under my influence again.

And that wasn't the only problem, of course. My power didn't help me _take control_ of people, it just made them _susceptible_. If they had to move too far out of their own comfort zone to help me, they'd break free. So I had to find them an occupation which wouldn't only benefit me in some way, but which they also genuinely liked.

And if I wanted too much from them, it'd break, too. If I wanted a teacher to shoot somebody in the head, he'd just refuse. Break my influence on him and have the powers I gave him regardless of it.

 _"- island is gone-"_

"I can see it. It's a small black box."

I wouldn't like to call them my 'Students', because that was Teacher's shtick.

My Acolytes ?

My Agents ?

Operatives sounded nice.

"What should I do ?"

Yes, what should he do ?

 _Path: How to take control of Dragon_  
Step eight, make him take the box

 _Path:How to avoid Doctor Mother's / The Number Man's / Alexandria's / Legend's attention_  
Step ten, ensure that Saint gets the box

That meant Cauldron was definitely watching.

Most likely the Number Man.

It also meant he wouldn't keep it to himself. He'd tell it to the Triumvirate.

They wouldn't _find_ me if I took the box, but they would definitely start searching harder.

The fact that an assassin called _Fortuna_ was a blind spot to Contessa was probably already making Contessa and Doctor Mother incredibly suspicious.

Contessa probably had a Path that involved the box, and it was most probably telling her that _Saint_ would get the box.

And it wouldn't be very hard to put the clues about who'd taken the box together if he didn't.

The only other alternatives would be Scion, Eidolon and the Endbringers, and they could all be easily dismissed.

Was it worth the heat ?

Could I handle the onslaught, this early in the game ?

Probably not.

But...

 _Did I even need to ?_

"Tell him to stay away," I muttered, a grin forming on my face as I briskly walked back into my room.

 _Path: Pick notebook 1-0-2_

 _Worm, Collected Summaries_

 _Path: How to find-_

There.

I read it to myself, aloud.

 _"Contacted Teacher to help him understand Dragon's code."_

I began to laugh, loudly.

I'd been so focused on everything that was happening. The Fortuna business, my busy schedule, my reading and managing the people who were under my influence that I didn't have the time to read this all more than once.

"Cassandra, tell him to set up surveillance on the guy who's going to get his hands on that box."

I didn't even _need_ to control Dragon if I could just control _Saint_ instead.

And then I fell asleep, dreaming of-

 _Wires in my nose_

-nothing. I shook my head, grabbed the painkillers on the small table next to my bed and threw in three of them.

I dreamt of nothing, because I wasn't allowed to.

Dreaming is bad. Sleep is bed.

I don't even know why I have a bed in the first place.

A kind of irrational anger gripped me then, and I entertained the thought of setting the bed on fire, before I sighed deeply, letting myself fall into an uncomfortable wooden chair, rubbing at my eyes.

Exhaustion had been my constant companion for the last two years.

 _Path: Immortality_  
Step eighty-eight, take a cold bath

I stepped out of the bathroom in my boxershorts, correctly deducing that Cassandra went to sleep, and sat myself down at her desk, in front of the computer.

She'd prepared a folder there for me, like always.

I wasn't sure what to think about her 'job' at first. The Path told me she'd be the best at managing my operations, so I'd just gone with it, even though I wasn't really sure.

But she'd done fairly well so far.

 _Enhanced skill in research, data gathering, understanding and memory retention._

That probably helped, too.

I paged through the folder, leaning back in the chair.

Teenager. Tinker. Specialized in reparation. Father is a cop. Mother a banker.

Was in the process of getting an Apprenticeship with the King's Men, which is basically their equivalent to the Wards in the US.

He'd found the tech of some rich villain and was in the process of fixing it, to give it over to the authorities.

Fairly easy job.

Fairly meager pay, for my standards.

Seventy thousand.

I sighed again, walked into the storage room, picked up my briefcase. Then I remembered that you're not supposed to leave the house without clothes, so I got dressed, too.

A turquoise shirt and tight white pants, boots, gloves.

Fifteen minutes to get to the location, two minutes to break into the house opposite to theirs.

I opened the window, shut the blinds. Turned on the lights. It was deep in the night, after all, and not being able to see anything generally made me uneasy.

The briefcase clicked open and I pulled out the sniper rifle, about to put it into position when-

 _Path: Immortality_  
Step eighty-nine, throw your phone away  
Step ninety, roll to the left  
Step ninety-one, hide behind the couch

The windows shattered, a hail of glass raining down on where I _would've_ been.

What ?

"You survived. Congratulations, 'Fortuna', not many can claim that."

 _'Shatterbird has been sighted in the UK.'_

I focused, regaining some of the clarity that I'd been missing for more than a year now.

 _Path: How do I get strong enough to defeat Siberian in a one-on-one scenario_  
Step twenty-seven, face Shatterbird

Was I so far gone that I didn't even _see_ this ?

No. I'd been loosing focus for a while now, but not enough for something like this to slip by me.

 _Cauldron steered her in my path somehow._

The shards of glass from the broken window began rising, taking the shape of a rudimentary spear.

"I wonder, will you be a worthy opponent for me, Fortuna ?"

 _Is she playing Eidolon ?_

I didn't have the time for this.

No, I probably had, but I didn't want to spend time on it.

I was angry. Angry at myself, for missing this. Angry at Cauldron, for forcing this on me. Angry at my circumstances.

 _Path: Kill her. Thirty seconds max, no one is alerted._

Nothing.

 _Path: Kill her. One minute max, no one is alerted._

Eighty-three steps.

Doable.

I rolled out of the way, seemingly only escaping the spear that shot through the couch by sheer luck, and opened my briefcase, pulling out the silenced Desert Eagle.

The first shot hit the light bulb, leaving us both in the dark.

The second shot would've hit her in the chest, but was blocked by a barrier of glass.

"This will not help you, Fortuna. You will have to-"  
I grabbed into my briefcase again, taking out two gut knives, and began running for her.

I wasn't as athletic as I'd like myself to be, or as strong as I planned to be, because two years just wasn't enough to become some kind of fighting machine. I was an above mediocre fighter at best, but that didn't mean I _wasn't_ cheating.

Step fifty-three, take a knife and-

I threw it in the air, drawing her focus, rolled under the half shattered barrier of glass, landing in front of her, on my knees.

Before she could even perceive what was happening, I'd embedded a knife, a very painful one, right into her left thigh.

Shatterbird, member of the nine, could've probably dealt with it. Could've maybe even ignored the absurd amount of pain that these knives could inflict.

But this wasn't that Shatterbird. This was a girl that didn't face a _real_ challenge yet, and Cauldron had thrown her in the way of somebody they'd probably _known_ would defeat her.

And so she screamed.

Loudly.

The glass barrier shattered to the ground along with herself, and I caught the second knife easily out of the air.

Step eighty-three, stab her in the throat

I settled on top of her, panting slightly. Put my gloved hand on top of her mouth, muting her.

People had probably already heard, but they'd assume the notorious, nomadic villain was facing some team from the King's Men.

I'd shut the blinds, too, so that would help.

She began mumbling something into my hand after she'd regained some of her breath, so I took it away.

"I can be useful," she whispered.

 _I know. Regent did great with you._

I just tilted my head in response.

"I will do-"

Panting, wheezing, coughing.

"- will do whatever you want. I can be..."

And then she fell unconscious.

I pressed the knife to her throat, slowly.

And then I thought about it.

She _could_ be useful.

If I handled it right...

 _Path: Her Absolute Subservience_

I generally didn't do this because it was such a hassle, but under these circumstances...

She could be more than just useful, honestly.

If I managed it so that she took over parts of Fortuna's job, I'd have massive amounts of free time on my hands.

Time to do with as I wanted to. Time to waste. Time to recuperate. To find hobbies.

I sighed, fishing for a cigarette.

The flame of my lighter illuminated the room.

Now, how to drag a known criminal half an hour through the city.

I dialed Cassandra on my phone.

"Cassandra, you need to steal a van for me."


	4. Birth 1 04

**Arc 1: Birth 1.04**

 **London, 2006**  
 **3 years after the Simurgh attacked London, Ellis is now 16**

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mce-anchor **Topic: IS DRAGON ACTUALLY UGLY ?**  
 **In: Boards ► ► London**  
 **FORTUNEFAVORSYOURMOM** (Original Poster) (Unverified Cape) (Wiki Warrior)  
Posted On Mar 11th 2006:  
I mean, this Dragon woman has been around for a year now, and all we know of her is that she spends all her time on the internet and that she never leaves her room. She must be scared people will die if she ever shows her face.  
#DragonWillNeverBeBestGirl

 **(Showing page 1 of 1)**

mce-anchor ► **Dawgsmiles**  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
Oh my god, your ban's been lifted ? Guys, don't reply to him. This guy has been saying that he's world famous assassin "Fortuna" for like a year. Urgh. I bet you're just trying to hide some insecurity. And what is it with your hashtags ? Nobody uses hashtags !

mce-anchor ► **FORTUNEFAVORSYOURMOM** (Original Poster) (Unverified Cape) (Wiki Warrior)  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
I bet your mom is trying to hide her insecurities too.

mce-anchor ► **Aloha**  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
That doesn't even make sense

mce-anchor ► **FORTUNEFAVORSYOURMOM** (Original Poster) (Unverified Cape) (Wiki Warrior)  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
Your mom doesn't make sense.

mce-anchor ► **Xyloloup**  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
Let's stay on topic. What's wrong with a girl never leaving her room ?  
Doesn't she have the right to do that if she wants to ?  
I think what she does is admirable. She basically handles ninety percent of the data for the PRT.

mce-anchor ► **FORTUNEFAVORSYOURMOM** (Original Poster) (Unverified Cape) (Wiki Warrior)  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
You just said 'let's stay on topic' and then proceeded to talk about sth. completely different. I was talking about her appearance, not her job. You dickwad.

mce-anchor ► **ArchmageEin** (Moderator)  
Replied On Mar 11th 2006:  
Well, congratulations "Fortuna". That'll be another ban.

 **End of Page. 1**

_Path: How to get my ban lif-_

"Mmm. You're awake already ?"

The girl – Laura, Lisa, Lena ? - began lazily drawing circles on my back as she sat up.

Cassandra stirred in response to my right.

"What're you doing ?"

She whispered it into my ear. I think she was trying to be sexy or something, but I didn't really have the time for that.

She began putting her arms around mine, so I put my laptop away and slapped her hands from my shoulders.

"Stop it, woman. My dick hurts, for fuck's sake. Go play with Cass or something, I have stuff to do."

I stood up, my trolling mood now ruined, intending to take a bath, when my phone rang.

"Hello-lo ?"

"Hey Ellis, it's your buddy-"

 _Mind slave_

"- Jeremy. I'm in a bad place right now, so I wanted to ask if you'd, I don't know, come over for a drink ?"

Oh my god, he wanted me to be his _friend_.

I didn't want to become _friends_ with my _mind slave_.

It _didn't work like that._

"-and she's telling me she'll make sure I never get to see my daugther again," he prattled on.

I interrupted him, sighing wearily.

"I'll be there in an hour."

These mind slaves were beginning to be more trouble than they were worth, honestly.

It took, all in all, half an hour to shower, brush my teeth, throw that girl out of my house and get myself something to wear.

Women, apparently, thought it would be _sweet_ to wear the clothes of the guy they were sleeping with.

I didn't think so, but nobody was asking me, for some reason.

Jeremy Walston's appearance looked very disproportionate with what I knew to be his salary.  
Like a homeless person, in fact.

"Hey buddy ! I'm glad you-"

I rolled my eyes and entered the apartment.

It looked like the apartment of a man who had money but didn't have the _slightest_ idea of what interior decoration meant.

Very fitting.

I sank into one of his weird, pink, plushy chairs, crossing my legs, and pulled out a cigarette.

Jeremy almost looked like he was going to grab for one of mine, too, before I rasied a neatly trimmed eyebrow at him, at which he backed down.

I lit it, took a drag, and then sighed deeply.

"Go on, you can talk," I told him ruefully.

He seemed to rejoice at my statement.

"You know how bad I've been because of the divorce-"

I interrupted him, taking another drag of my cigarette.

"How do you not have any nuptials, Jeremy ? Like, when you type in _'Marriage tips'_ in the internet, literally the _first_ thing it's gonna tell you is to draw up fucking nuptials. Are you a moron, Jeremy ?"

Jeremy didn't seem to think that he was a moron.

"We were in love, you know how you get when you're in love," he told me.

I shook my head.

"No I don't. You loose all higher brain functions when you're in love, I take it ?"

Jeremy seemed to collapse into himself, sighing like a guy who only has seven days left to live.

I should know. That facial expression is part of my M.O.

"She wants more than half, and I don't think I have the power to-"

I interrupted him again, standing up and beginning to pace.

 _Path: Get Jeremy to shut the fuck up_

Thirt-

I dismissed it. Rolled my eyes.

"What do you mean you don't have the fucking power you fucking asshat ? You became leader of the King's Men like, _a week ago_. You are the ruler of the Parahuman community of the _anybody_ has the fucking power it's fucking you," I exclaimed.

He shook his head, and I _swear_ he was about to actually talk back to me, so I kicked at the chair he was sitting in. It fell over, he hurt his head.

"Ow."

"This country is fucking doomed," I told him.

Sighed again, threw my cigarette on the ground.

I let him gather himself up as I walked over to his fridge.

"Jeremy did your fucking daughter eat all the lemon tarts again ? I swear I'm going to punt that goddamn thing across a basketball arena one day."

"She likes the lemon tarts especially," he told me proudly.

I pulled out a bottle of milk, glass bottle.

Threw it against the wall. It missed him by milimeters.

"Yeah, Jeremy, but those are _my_ goddamn lemon tarts. I swear if this happens again I'll kill you and _then_ I'll kill that daughter of yours."

He sighed in misery again, nodding.

"So what do I do ?" He asked.

His arms were spread, as if he was the most desperate person in the world -

And I know what the most desperate people in the world look like. Tarot cards are very untrendy these days because of me.  
\- and... his eyes began to water ?

"Are you... What the fuck ?"

"I just don't know how to-"

He was _actually_ crying.

Oh god.

 _What the fuck ?_

"Jeremy, shut your fucking mouth. I swear, I feel like carving you open right now. Cass is going to send you your next project. Just, become a workaholic or whatever people do to escape their problems, I don't care. But I swear if I see you crying again I'll throw you from your balcony."

I didn't stick around to hear his response. I didn't really feel like staying.

It takes around thirty minutes from Jeremy's place to mine, so I entertained myself by playing Tic Tac Toe with myself and setting two paths against each other.

The answer wasn't nearly as interesting as it should be.

 _The first one to play wins_.

Cass greeted me at the door with a coffee in one hand and a glass of cheap white wine in the other.

I took them both, smiled at her and moved inside, shutting the door with my rear, like the cool girls in movies do.

"Shoot," I told her.

"Well, everything's going alright, really. We have three people in the government, six in the King's Men, the base in Canada is running smoothly, your 'think tank' is operating at peak efficiency and 'Fortuna' just murdered three members of the King's Men last night."

Good news. Far better than the other option.

I gulped down the already slightly cold coffee and threw myself on my bed, wine glass in hand.

I drowned that, too, to numb my body a little.

Then, I picked up the syringe next to my bed, the blue fluid already inside, and gave myself an injection.

Which always _hurt so fucking much._

My 'think tank' was a group of fifteen people. People who already had either tinker or thinker powers and who desperateyl needed money. I'd found them, formed them into a group, put _additional_ thinker or tinker powers on top of theirs, built up their dreams in a way noone else could and offered them sponsoring, with the sole condition that once every month, they'd have to take up a project, just for me, without anybody else getting wind of it.

Of course, there were countless security measures in place to keep them from blabbing anyway, but they hadn't been necessary so far.

The blue fluid in the syringe had been the very first project I'd demanded from them.

I'd told them to build on the knowledge they have of 'Noctis capes', capes who don't need to sleep, and get me some way to emulate that.

The injections were the result of that.

Sadly, they also made me feel like the blood in my body was reaching the boiling point.

I had hoped, for a while, that I'd become a Noctis cape by mself, because Contessa is one, if I remembered right, but I was fairly sure she just was one because she was more shard than human.

That was another thing I'd been very careful about for a year now.

I took at least three hours every day and just... ignored my powers.

I stretched languidly on the bed, smiling slightly as I felt all the exhaustion I'd built up leave me, and just relaxed a little.

It was about thirty minutes, I think, later, that she came in.

Pulled off her mask, then her costume, threw herself next to me.

"It's getting absurd, you know. I mean, they should've realized by now that tinker tech just _doesn't_ work, but they're still very adamant about thinking they can murder me with it."

Shatterbird had forgotten her real name. Something arabic, she'd said, but I didn't care, so I called her Sarah instead.

"Ah, something else. I got word that a new big shot is in town. You know a villain named 'Ingenue' ? She's been sighted at the airport, with a hulking beast of a man next to her. Her boyfriend, they say."

Ingenue.

I stood up -

 _Path: Find notebook entry, Ingenue_

\- picked the right notebook, paged through it as Sarah watched.

She'd probably wondered a lot about what was in all of those identical looking notebooks, but I'd expressly forbidden her from touching any of them, and she hadn't so far.

I wasn't about to tell her my origin story, after all.

Only stupid people do that.

 _Ingenue: Boosts 1 aspect of some1's power in exchange for making them worse in another._  
 _Side effect: Her "partners" become homicidal after prolonged periods of use._  
 _Extra: Can change her personality into her target's 'ideal woman'_  
 _Extra 2: Can probably see powers & trigger events_

"Hmmm."

Her power, her main power, wasn't even threatening.

Equal exchange was all it was, but still not something that soundedl overly interesting to me.

But...

 _Path: How to..._

I pulled Sarah off the bed, notebook in hand, to sit down with Cassandra, who was, as usual, going through the offers 'Fortuna' was receiving, managing the money, my people, my assets.

That was pretty much all she was.

My constant, absolute influence over her had eroded away almost all of her personality.

"Cass, look this over," I told her, handing her the notebook.

She'd play a big part in this one, so I needed to be sure she understood her role.

She looked throug the notes for a moment.

"We could use her power on the think tank. It doesn't really matter if they forget how to talk french in exchange for boosting their usefulness to us, does it ?"

Hard, cold efficiency.

"Her main power isn't really problematic, it's the 'Extra 2' part. Can 'probably' see powers and trigger events. I'm fairly sure Cauldron is involved in getting her here because it didn't pop up in any of my paths until Sarah mentioned that she's here just now. And _nobody_ can ever be allowed to see my trigger event," I told both of them.

Cassandra just nodded, deep in thought.

"So she doesn't," she concluded.

She began sorting through files on the computer, scribbling down notes at random.

I _knew_ what the plan was going to be, because I already _had_ it, but it wouldn't do to let anybody really know that.

Cassandra knew that I could influence people in exchange for giving them powers, and from what she'd told me, she thought I also had some kind of telepathy and a Trump power that gave me immunity to other powers. It was the same conclusion Sarah had reached, really, and I didn't really feel like changing that image.

On one hand, it actually made me seem _way_ more powerful, as a person, than I actually was, and on the other hand, if somebody ever got hold of them who somehow brought them to a point where they'd sell me out, the only thing they'd do was make me look stronger in the eyes of my enemies.

So, while Cassandra was pointlessly arranging an elobrate plan to deal with this new, huge threat to our well being, I chose to spend my time a little... differently. 

* * *

Sarah – which was not actually her name, for god's sake – had to hold back a shriek as she felt it, then glared impotently at Ellis from his position next to Cassandra.

The agressive vibrations of whatever device his band of geeks had made for him against her clit were more than just a little... interruptive.

He'd somehow gotten his hands on another bottle of cheap white wine, nursing it like he didn't have a care in the world.

She shifted slightly in her seat, bit her tongue to stop a moan from leaving her.

"Sarah, you think you could handle drawing her out of the hotel she's staying in ?"

Her eyes were half-lidded, and she had to make a conscious effort to even understand what the girl was saying, so she just nodded instead.

"O-of course."

She could, probably, just drop the act, start screaming through the room, but Ellis wouldn't be _pleased_ with that.

That was what this was about, after all.

 _'It's not about pleasure, it's about entertainment'_ , he'd said.

He'd once gotten a random stranger in a coffeeshop to the brink of an orgasm 'til she asked him to take her home so he could finish her, and then he dropped it. Just like that.

 _'It just wasn't very funny anymore',_ he'd said.

So she kept her mouth shut.

Another, irregular buzz across her clit ripped her from her thoughts and she suppressed another moan, clawing into her thighs.

She tried to clear her throat, dispel the sounds that were building up in her throat, but it wasn't really working.

Ellis had raised an eyebrow at her now in a silent challenge.

She could feel it hit her g-spot, could feel her face heat up as she had to bury everything in herself that told her to just _let it all out_.

He sighed as he drowned the last drops of his bottle, stood up, shoved her across the table.

It didn't earn more than a short glance from Cassandra, who just rolled her eyes in exasperation, before he'd pulled down her pants and underwear, his fingers traveling up her thigh, rubbing a finger up and down each lip.

He stopped, briefly, which left her incredibly frustrated, angered, and filled with lust all at once.

"Cassandra, write it down somewhere. We don't have any lemon tarts left," he told her, seemingly totally unconcerned about her state.

Cassandra just nodded distractedly.

"Jeremy didn't have any ?" She asked.

Ellis sighed angrily in response.

"No. That little parasite of his ate them all, I swear-"

She didn't give him the chance to continue talking. Took his fingers and _shoved_ as many as she could into her, making her cry echo across the room.

He just rolled his eyes at her, pushing a chair in front of the table she was spread across, and went back to exploring her. Slowly.

His probing fingers caressed her, teasing her with touches that she barely felt.

His thumb found her clit, then, circling the nub almost as if in slow motion.

She pressed herself against him as much as she could, until his other hand landed at her hip, a clear signal to stay where she was.

She clawed herself onto the edges of the table as his fingers began moving in and out faster, as his other hand gently began massaging her hips, his thumb working her clit, which made her back arch up, made her cries louder.

Her cries became breathless and she just managed to push out rough grunts as she came closer and closer.

It happened once, twice, and then she came on his fingers, his other hand pressing her down by firmly pushing against her belly.

She sighed deeply, in pleasure and reverence, let herself stay there, half-naked and sweaty.

"One minute twenty-seven," Cassandra told him informatively as he began standing up, leaning over her.

She began thinking, for a moment, that he'd _actually_ indulge her, but that was shattered fairly quickly.

He drove his fingers, wet with her fluids, into her open, gaping mouth, holding them there.

And she sucked them off, one finger after the other, bit into his middle finger a little, suckled on each in turn until he got bored, stood up.

"Get yourself cleaned up, sleep. I have... important things to do."

* * *

I rubbed my hands as evilly as possible as I ended my private conversation with the moderator.

I'd made him understand that I'd just had a really stressful day by copying everything Jeremy told me today word for word.

It worked fairly well.

I thought about cackling for a second, but then noticed that I didn't really have the look down to pat, so it wouldn't really come out right.

"I'm ready to go," Sarah told me from the doorway.

She'd fallen asleep immediately afterwards, which was probably for the better.

As we went on our way, both of us taking different routes to cover our tracks, I thought about _sleep_ , which I didn't do very much these days.

Honestly, without having the time available to me that I did because I didn't need to sleep, I'd probably have resorted to using the Path to get me an easy solution to solve it, which I really didn't want.

I'd tried it, once, and it told me that the best way to do that was going to meet up with _Bonesaw_.

When I'd dismissed that, I'd phrased it more concisely.

 _Path: How to be able to sleep without the solution negatively affecting my other Paths_

It'd told me to use my power more often.

I knew that would work. It worked for Contessa, but I desperately didn't want to do that. It was a surefire way to just become _addicted_ to my shard, to my power. It'd rob me of any personality, any problem solving skills I had if I just solved each problem I had by using my power.

It was also a wakeup call, and a much needed one at that.

My shard wasn't benevolent. It was driving me toward conflict all the time, and if given the chance, it'd try to gain as much influence over me as possible.

I arrived at the hotel a short while later, making sure my earpiece was in place and-

 _Path: Kill Ingenue's boyfriend. As easily and effectively as possible_

-bumped into a man who was walking out at the right angle. It made him drop his phone.

"I'm so sorry, I've been so unfocused today," I told him bashfully.

The man just laughed it off, reaching for his phone.

"No worries, no worries. This thing-" He tapped his knuckles against his phone "-can endure a lot more than just a little fall."

What a polite guy.

I used the moment in which he gathered himself again to reach for his shoulder.

"You're going to the parking lot too ?" I asked him.

He nodded, still smiling at me, so we walked down, making polite smalltalk while we were on our way.

When we were at his car, a fairly remote spot, he was obviously about to say goodbye while he went to unlock his car.

I used that moment to touch him on the shoulder again, which didn't prompt any surprise because it was the second time I did that, turned him around and smothered his face with a tissue covered in anaesthetic.

It didnt take very long for the effects to sink in, so I held the door open with my free hand, making him drop into the seat of his car.

I opened the back door, sat in, and pulled out my garotte wire, put it around his neck, gained some leverage by pressing my legs against his seat, and then I pulled.

I took the time to actually _talk_ about my problems with him, like that psychology book said.

 _Try talking about your problems with people who don't know you as much. An unbiased view. If you have the courage, try talking to a stranger_

"So I'm actually really unhappy with all of this," I told him conversationally.

"Because there's just so much... ambiguity, you know. Why was I brought here ? Do I have some kind of purpose in life ? Who brought me here, in the first place ? The government ? Did I do it myself ? Was I some kind of mad scientist otaku type ? Or was it Aku, the shape-shifting Master of Darkness ? _I don't know_ , you know."

He didn't _seem_ like he knew, because he was mostly wheezing by now, the light in his eyes beginning to flicker visibly through the rearview mirror, tears building a puddle on his shirt.

"And, I mean, if I _did_ send myself here, couldn't I have arranged it so I had some kind of better power ? I mean, if we're going with these cheap hack powers anyway, couldn't I've gotten Eidolon's ? I would've been happy with Alexandria's, or, for fuck's sake, even with Tattletale's. Instead, I got a power that's constantly trying to assfuck my personality, you know what I'm trying to say ?"

He wasn't. His shirt was wet. There was an imprint on his neck. He was dead.

"Wow, great work-" I fished for his wallet, looked at his ID, "-Dave. _One_ time I ask somebody for advice, and you just _die_ instead. I mean, maybe you were supposed to be my Jessica Yamada, and I just killed you. How was I supposed to know that you were going to Yamada my life in order, Dave ?"

He wasn't talking to me.

"Fine. Be that way. I don't need you."

I was about to leave the car, make a dramatic exit, but then I remembered-

"Well, I don't need _you_ , but I _do_ need your wallet."

I identified myself at the lobby as _Dave_ , which left a bitter taste in my mouth, because Dave had been such an asshole to me, made up some inane excuses about why I _could_ show her my key card but _not_ my ID – it was actually because Dave was thirty and I was obviously underage still – and then I was off.

I tipped a finger to the earpiece hidden in my ear, immediately perceiving Cassandras voice.

"You're clear. Ingenue is currently talking with 'Fortuna'."

The mental image made me chuckle slightly as I realized how awkward that probably was.

Ingenue, if I understood her power correctly, modeled her personality according to her _actual_ target. So she was going to be the _perfect woman_ for _me_ , not for Sarah.

I tried to imagine what kind of personality that was, but the conclusion was already there.

 _Alexandria. Contessa. Bakuda. Glaistig Uaine._

The powerfully, amorally evil type.

Was I turning into a stereotype ?

 _Path: How to avoid becoming a stereo-_

I walked into the storage room, maneuvering myself in such a way that no cameras caught me.

 _I would look rad as fuck in Mission Impossible though._

I took the full petrol can and-

 _Path: How to avoid attention_

-walked up the stairs to Dave's room.

I _could've_ sticked to the plan that Cassandra made at this point.

It was probably a good one, honestly. She'd saying something about confronting him in his room and killing him before he could muster up any defense, or something like that.

But it wasn't the _easiest_ one, so I didn't.

Instead, I walked into Dave's – _my –_ room, opened the window and leaned out of it, petrol can still in hand.

 _This room smells real nice._

"Cassandra, find out what room spray they use in this hotel."

I climbed easily into the next room which – _coincidence –_ was also the room where Ingenue's boyfriend was currently sleeping.

Snoring, actually, spread across the couch.

I opened the petrol can, poured the contents in a circle around the guy first, leaning to the ground so it would make less sound.

Then, I moved on to douse the door really well, the bed, the table.

I fished for a cigarette. Lit it. Took a deep drag.

The guy was stirring, now.

He'd probably hear me if I talked.

"I _always_ wanted to do this."

I threw the cigarette to the ground, setting everything on fire immediately, and leisurely left the room to the screams of the guy who was... catching fire at an alarmingly fast rate ?

"Cassandra, what power _does_ this guy have ?"

She sounded weary.

Ah, right. I'd thrown her carefully made plan straight out the window.

"He can abosrb heat to make himself stronger."  
Ah. So he'd absorb and absorb while things began burning more and more until he couldn't anymore, at which point he'd just drop and die.

So I didn't just kill him, but I was also torturing him to death.

I picked up my phone as it began to ring, already prepared to sigh as I heard Jeremy's excited voice.

"I fucking caught him, Ellis ! I just caught Teacher ! I'm going to be a fucking _Legend !_ "

 _I caught him._

As if he did anything by _himself._ Like an actor preening on Twitter about that film he _made._

What a dickhead.

I just hoped that mod had already lifted the ban on my account, because I really needed to make jokes at the expense of others right now.

 _Fucking Dave._


	5. Birth 1 05

**Arc 1: Birth 1.05**

 **Montreal, 2007**  
 **4 years after the Simurgh attacked London, Ellis is now 17**

Jason Teague sighed deeply as he looked at the card in his hands first, at the folder next to him afterwards.

It had kept him up at night for weeks now, and with the job he had, sleep was vital.

He was the Director of the PRT in Montreal, and he was looking at the folder titled 'Fortuna'.

From what rumors said, the assassin, who had become an international figure about half a year ago, just came back from India, where he'd been working closely with the Thanda, or the 'Colds', in some kind of secret business.

India wasn't the only place he'd visited on his journey, though. He'd been here, in Canada, too.  
Killed six members of the Guild, while Narwhal and Dragon watched in impotence.

The PRT had labeled him an A-Class threat and, under heavy pressure from the Guild, also designated him a Stranger 9 and Trump 5.

In truth, they still didn't know what it was that he did, but they needed to label him _something_ , because a guy who was so frequently breaking the Unwritten Rules needed to be put under as much pressure as possible.

At least, that's how the others had framed it.

Jason, personally, thought that if they hadn't managed to catch him for the last three and a half years, they wouldn't be able to catch him because of some protocols.

But, he thought, his opinion probably didn't matter much.

Three weeks ago, his wife had left him.

Two months before that, she'd begun acting strangely. He'd thought she was cheating on him. Had found proof, even. She came in late at night, always grumpy, always willing to flip out at him at the slightest remark about it.

But the truth was worse.

Jason had managed to hole himself off so he couldn't be influenced, but he doubted it would hold for much longer.

He needed to act.

He could go through the official channels. Call another branch's director. Get reinforcements. Master Stranger protocols in full effect. Evac, probably. They'd find out about his wife. Connect it to him. Question every decision he made, every second he waited and didn't do anything.

His career would be over.

Or...

Or he could do it differently.

He looked at the card in his hands again. Turned it around a few times.

It was an elegant looking thing, matte black, with small, glittery diamonds on it and nothing but a string of numbers.

It'd taken time, but it wasn't very hard to get the number.

Getting the number wasn't the hard part. Getting his plea to be heard amongst most probably millions of others would be much harder.

Jason sighed again, activated the TV.

Jeremy Walston, like he'd been for quite some time, was there.

A public figure. Jason didn't know if the man ever had a cape name or costume of some kind. Couldn't image it. Couldn't imagine him in any situation where he wasn't in total control.

The man had caught Teacher, a notorious villain, and had worked with his fame like the best chess player in the world.

He'd worked to build the EUP, the European Union of Parahumans, and had immediately become it's leader upon founding. They'd absorbed all the smaller groups of heroes in Britain and were quickly rising in fame, wealth and power.

A man who was at the top of everything.

Unlike him, who was debating hiring a known invincible murderer because he was too cowardly to face his own faults.

 _But it would be so much easier._  
 _If Fortuna just came and dealth with it all, Heartbreaker would be gone. They'd assume it was some villain who'se wife he'd taken and had manged to get away. Everything would be fine again._

And then he collapsed in his chair and began to sob.

 _A Deal with the Devil._

* * *

 **London**

"Third is the Thanda. They're impressed, and they'd like to have you back again as soon as you can."

I took another sip of wine, put it away. Submerged myself in the scented water of my bath for a few seconds before I emerged again.

"What else ?"

"Well, there's a really cheap attempt from the PRT again to try to find out-"

"That one."

"What d'you mean, that one ? I mean, it doesn't get much more obvious than that. The Director of the PRT is trying to hire an assassin ? It's pretty ridiculous. And besides-"

"Call him. Tell him to keep calm. Tell him not to panic. We'll be in contact. Tell him we're drawing up the contract already."  
"Are you ins-"

My hand shot out of the water too fast for her to blink, closing down around her throat much more firmly than she probably thought it could with how little muscle I seemed to have.

I didn't look at her, even as she began trying to wheeze out a feeble apology, musing on the hardships of management instead.

I had much more people now. Much more assets. Fortuna didn't work for money anymore, but for favors. I had a mansion in the middle of London instead of a run down apartment in the suburbs.

I was practically invincible. Protected by my 'Operatives', who were all posing in some kind of formal role in the mansion. Protected by Sarah, who by now handled around ninety percent of all my missions. Protected by the European Union of Parahumans, too. I brought Jeremy to the top, and a key point in making sure he wouldn't forget it was-

Her breathing stopped. The light faded. I let her fall to the ground with an uncaring shove.

-by making sure he never forgot about the distribution of power in our relationship. I had to become harder, a little rougher, as a result.

I found Cassandra lounging around in the living room, surrounded by goons.

"Cass, the-"

"-PRT Director. I was listening in and I've already prepared a message. What do we want from him ?"

 _What do we want from him ?_

 _Path: How to-_  
 _Path: How to become-_

"I'll write it out. Tell Sarah to prepare for flight. Looks like we're going to Canada."  
Cassandra looked at me quizically, uncaring of the hushed whispers that were starting behind her back.

They'd found the body, then.

"We'll be there to stay ?"

I pondered it, tilting my head this way and that.

"Yeah. For a while, at least."

She just nodded.

"Any other calls that need to be made ?"

"Yes. Call the base in Canada, tell them to move to Montreal. Also, tell them that I want to talk to Geoffrey as soon as we land."

I cracked my neck, taking a seat and instructing one of the absolutely useless maids to massage me.

 _Path: How to kill-_

* * *

 **5 days later**  
 **Montreal**

Geoffrey Pellick looked, anxiety rising exponentially, as the small, luxurious private jet landed.

A boy. Seventeen. Wearing round glasses and a thick sweater. An earring. A cup of coffee, a cigarette and a bored countenance.

Every step he took, down the ramp, seemed to reverbate with meaning.

He walked at the front of the group, not even deeming to look at them, gazing at the skyline instead.

Geoffrey had to swallow, deeply.

Don't fear. Don't sweat. Don't react.

It was what he'd been telling himself ever since he heard that Fortuna and his Operatives were coming to their base. Stay out of his way, he'd told himself.

But that wouldn't work, because Fortuna wanted to talk to _him._

 _Don't fear, he'll know. Don't sweat, he'll see. Don't react, he'll feel._

It became a mantra.

When Geoffrey had been 'inducted', he'd _hated_ them all.

He'd sworn revenge at the wannabe upstart assassin that had ordered the deaths of his friends. Of the love of his life.

But then the mythos began to grow.

 _'Fortuna struck again. Authorities in shock. Protectorate baffled.'_

A legend in the making, they'd said.

Geoffrey didn't want to believe it, because it would make him have to acknowledge that he'd just... wither away with these people.

That he'd be another cog. Just another 'Operative'. That Maggy's death would never be avenged.

 _"That, Geoffrey, is the strongest cape in Canada. Narwhal. And that's her team. Together, they're invincible."_

 _"- Fortuna struck Canada. Narwhal's team is dead. Dragon didn't get a visual."_

Fortuna. The Phantom. The Ghost. The Invincible Assassin.

An unstoppable force. No matter how many people, how much _power_ you put in his path, he made them look like jokes before he killed them.

 _"A tarot card ? Either somebody thinks they're being funny, or this Fortuna has just massively overextended. Narwhal herself is going to stick around with them. Dragon too. Looks like the 'mythos' is dying in exactly seven days."_

 _"No. No, no, no, no, no. What- How ? No, no, no. I- I- I was right there ! No ! Let me go ! I was right there ! I'm going to fucking rip him apart ! I am the leader of the Guild and I will fucking rip him apart ! I will make him fucking pay for what he did to my team !"_

She didn't. She calmed down. Realized her outburst. Apologized.

Geoffrey'd hoped she wouldn't. Hoped she'd at least _try._

But she didn't.

He stood in front of their group, now, surrounded by a swarm of people. Tinkers, boosted by tinker powers. Thinkers, boosted by thinker powers. Geniuses on their own. Together, they were the hive mind that were the 'Operatives'.

If Fortuna was the hammer, the public personality, the name that made nations stand up in fright if they heard he was around, the Operatives were the dagger. If you'd heard too much, if you went back on the deal you made, if you'd tried to talk to somebody or were preparing to, you'd be gone. Your family would be gone. Your friends would be gone.

Surgical precision.

The boy stood in front of him, now.

Tilted his head slightly. Gave a faint, sly, smile.

"Hello, Geoffrey."

 _"They say the Indians 'owe' him. Some guys say they couldn't gather the money to pay him off. Others say Fortuna, explicitly, wanted favors instead of money."_

 _Don't fear. Don't sweat. Don't react._

 _"You heard ? The guy went back on his deal. The OP's made it look like he never fucking existed. It's goddamn creepy, ya know ?"_

"Hello, Sir."

The boy looked at him. Reached out, one gloved hand taking Geoff's chin in his hand, tilting it this way and that. Narrowing his eyes.

 _"The most educated guess we have is stil better than the most educated one the PRT has, to be honest. We think he has some kind of mild but long range telepathy, along with total immunity to other powers."_

 _Don't fear. Don't sweat. Don't react._

Then the boy began to chuckle, his hand leaving Geoff's chin, and he just walked away.

Just like that.

The tension was broken, and his hands were shaking. He didn't manage to contain it, even as a pair of women approached.

A formally clothed, stern looking one, along with... another one. An indecent sweater, a dagger in hand.

She gave off the same vibe that Fortuna did, but not anywhere near as potently. It felt like an intentional imitation.

The overwhelming pressure of... superiority. It wasn't there. Just a mild undercurrent of power.

 _Enough power to kill you. That's probably Ingenue._

Another Operative. Her designation was 1-0-4, if he remembered right.

The formally clothed one pushed a folder into his hands, condescension pouring off of her in waves.

"I don't know why we're bothering with you, Geoffrey Pellick, but-"

"They call me Saint."

He managed to get it out, finally. It was meant to be a show of strength, when faced with-

 _"Fortuna, the Invincible Stranger, has left a card in Berlin."_

\- the man who'd taken _everything_ from him, but his boldness had left him when confronted with... him.

It was there, now. Too late, too little, but it was there.

Some form of strength.

The two women didn't seem to care.

"I'll call you ass monkey if I want to," Ingenue just said instead.

The professional looking woman just rolled her eyes at him.

"Fortuna thinks you're important, in the way a cog in a watch is important, you know. Not important enough that it couldn't be replaced, but certainly important enough that it could be a bother. Looking at you, I honestly don't see it, but I haven't gotten where I am by doubting him, and I certainly don't intend to start now. You have a week. The Operatives will be working with you. You will create a blind spot in Dragon's system-"

"You need me to create a backdoor in the all-seeing AI's system ?" He asked her incredulously.

The woman didn't answer immediately, just narrowed her eyes.

" _Need ?_ You're overestimating your importance, Geoffrey Pellick. Or you're underestimating my cruelty, maybe ? I heard that girl you work with has a crush on you," she told him.

Geoffrey shivered slightly. _Leader of the Operatives. 1-0-1. Cassandra. The First._

The woman didn't wait for him to recollect his courage.

" _A week_ , Geoffrey, or I'll talk to Fortuna about _replacements."_

 _This is the moment you'd been waiting for. To show strength. To show independence._  
 _It didn't work. You look like an impotent fool._

* * *

"I just didn't understand why- glurgh, glurgh, glurgh."

Sarah watched, rolling her eyes, as Tamara – Ingenue – was cut off by Ellis' dick getting shoved in her mouth.

He held her there, briefly, before she decided that it was as good an opportunity as they come, and began guiding her mouth up and down his length, stopping once in a while to take the barest of breaths before getting back to it.

She licked all along, slurped up everything that dripped down, and then went back to guiding it into her throat.

The small hotelroom apartment they were in – she, Cassandra, Tamara and a few of the more able Operatives – was beginning to smell like sex. Not that she minded, though.

Maybe the PRT Director would mind, but _she_ wasn't the one who was supposed to care about that.

That was Cassandra's job, and she wasn't doing anything.

She returned her eyes to Tamara, watching as the woman stroked him up and down as fast as she could with her left hand, her face muzzled into his crotch, her tongue running along his balls in loud, faintly erotic slurps.

He came shortly after that, holding down Tamara's head for a good thirty seconds as the girl went deathly still, before he let off and she – very slowly – extricated her throat from his cock, being careful to not spill anything.

The swallowing noise she made was loud enough to generate an echo.

It was exactly five seconds afterwards, five seconds in which Ellis stood up, zipped up his fly, dusted off his shoulders, that the knock on the door came.

Cassandra took two glasses of colored water into her hands, intending to look like some kind of waitress. Just one Operative among many.

Tamara, still a little dazed, a finger in her mouth, sucking it up and down, just sat down on the far corner of the room. She was just there for intimidation. The world knew that the villain Ingenue was with Fortuna's Operatives, so her role was mostly psychological.

One of the Operatives – Tyler ? - took a seat on the table, straightening himself up to look like an assuming, strong person.

Sarah herself stood up and made sure all the different devices with glass were exactly where they were supposed to be, in case something went south and the guy had to die.

Ellis was the one to walk to the door, opening it to a man in his mid thirties who looked like he hadn't slept in months.

Ellis smiled nicely at him as he bid him inside.

Jason Teague. The man came inside. Made a face as he smelled the air. Spotted Tamara. Her public image had always been fairly sexual, _the girl that turned her boyfriends into homicidal maniacs,_ so it was easy to assume that she'd behave sexually in some way.

 _Which she totally did._

The man looked at everybody in the room very carefully. A man who was used to dealing with dangerous people. Used to dealing with the pressure that an entourage like they were could create.

It probably wouldn't be the same if Ellis wasn't playing meek service boy.

Ellis began talking to the man in hushed whispers. They didn't need to hear it. All scripted.

 _"I- ehm. I'll need to pat you down, ehm, Mister- Sir- ehm. Mister Teague."_

The man shrugged his shoulders uncaringly, still not looking at Ellis.

Ellis patted him down carefully, before moving to the side.

Jason Teague, Director of the PRT Montreal, was sitting at a table with what he thought was the Second in Command of Fortuna along with some of his Operatives.

It wasn't really accurate.

"Mister Teague. Please, sit."

Tyler motioned him to a seat.

"We're happy you're thinking about making use of our services."

The man smiled blandly. It looked horribly forced. Ugly.

"Yes. Me too."

Clear. To the point.

Not a man for words, then.

"Very well, let's get to it, no need to talk around it. You are, obviously, not going to be paying us."

The man didn't seem overly surprised.

"Yeah, I figured the rumors that you were working on favors now was true when you invited me here. You would've known I don't have a tenth of the money you normally want for a contract."

Tyler smiled at him.

"You are absolutely right."

And then he stopped. Didn't say anything.

Usual psychological methods. Put somebody under pressure by seeming to take the initiative, then just stopping until they do it themselves.

The Director, no doubt, knew all about psychological tactics.

 _Unfortunately,_ he was surrounded by people he _thought_ could kill him if it came down to it. In reality, he was surrounded by people who could make him kill _himself_ if they got bored.

She glimpsed at Ellis briefly, standing in the doorway of the small bathroom and genuinely, brightly smiling as the two talked.

And he wasn't only being oppressed by the sheer magnitude of disaster that was sitting around him, but also by _air._ It smelled like sex, and the Director was here because he'd lost his wife to Nikos Vasil. He probably didn't smell anything like this for quite some time.

"Can I ask what the favors are ?"

The Director broke first.

Tyler smiled even more, Ellis doing the same as he opted to just stand there, now leaning against the doorframe.

"We are going to give you a _list_ , with twenty names on it. In the next three months, seventeen of them will join the PRT here in Montreal. Three of them will join the Guild. You will pull as many strings as you possibly can to ensure there is no additional eye on them as they do. Make sure the process goes smoothly."

Ellis was mouthing the words along with Tyler, silently.

The Director began looking nervous as he, more and more, came to the realization, probably, that he wasn't _just_ hiring a killer. He was commiting high treason. Paving the way for a destructive force so _potent_ that nothing could escape it's crosshairs to join his midst.

But as his face fell ever so slightly, he also came to the realization that there was no way out anymore.

He'd seen too much. Given up too much. Endangered too much.

"Is that all ?" The Director asked, voice gruff.

Tyler smiled. Ellis smiled.

"No, not exactly. This-" he gestured at Cassandra, who brought two glasses filled with what looked to be a purple liquid – actually just water – and put them on the table, "- is how the Operatives get their powers. It also enables Fortuna to keep track of them at all times. It's how we make sure there are no... leaks. I trust you will not be one, Mister Teague ?"

The man looked constipated. Angered. Anxious.

"I trust that you will be not. Look at it from the bright side ! Superpowers, for free, basically."

Tyler took one of the glasses, pushed them firmly into the Directors hands.

The Directors hands were shaking. Would he break the glass ?

No. Ellis would've planned for that.

Teague put the glass to his mouth, and for a second, she could've sworn she saw him blink away a tear before he gulped it down.

He drowned it in one go, setting it on the table.

Ellis, toning down his smile, walked towards the table, positioning himself behind Teague.

Touched him slightly on the shoulder as he picked up the cup.

The Director still wasn't looking at him.

"Do you feel it ? The power ?" Tyler asked him, smiling.

The Director waited, briefly. Nodded, then. Looked at the other glass that was standing on the table.

 _It worked. Another hurdle that'll throw people off our trail. A way into the PRT. Into the Protectorate. It worked._

Ellis' smile was threatening to overcome him. It looked like he was about to collapse in laughter, barely managing to hold himself together as he guided the Director out.

 _We're in._

 **A/N: I've edited out some paths. It's intentional.  
**


	6. Birth 1 06

**Arc 1: Birth 1.06**

 **Montreal, 2008**  
 **5 years after the Simurgh attacked London, Ellis is now 18**

Narwhal herself was here. Dragon was listening in, ready to give advice. The upper echelon of Canada's PRT and the best of the best of the Guild were here.

John looked through the crowd, a little apprehensively.

"Well, I'll just begin, then."

Jason Teague, Director of the PRT Montreal.

Teague himself shot a brief look at Narwhal. The seven feet tall woman was reclining in her chair, legs spread, expression absolutely neutral.

"Two days ago, one of Heartbreaker's minions told us that Fortuna left him a card, most probably because he's trying to use us as protection. We didn't respond, so he took it into his own hands. Made his people riot. They all hit the streets at once. Heartbreaker tried to escape while the confusion lasted, but it didn't work. The Operatives blocked them at every turn, seemingly always two steps ahead of them. So this is the situation: Heartbreaker, his kids and the remains of his entourage – the strong, important ones. Capes, fighters – are in hiding, somewhere in the city. Fortuna and the Operatives are here too. But they're not the only ones."

He nodded at another man sitting in his corner. A short, pudgy man. A card that read _'Lucius, Intelligence Gathering'._

The man coughed into his hands, looking flustered at the attention.

John looked at Narwhal again.

Total pokerface still.

"Well, yes." The man coughed again. "Those two parties aren't the only ones here. The media has caught wind of it, too. This is, as you can imagine, _big._ Very _big._ If they get a video, this one story alone could earn them their retirement and then some. So naturally, we need to keep the media from-"

The table broke in two, cleanly bisected.

Narwhal was looking murderous.

"The media ? Two of the most reprehensible, _disgusting_ human beings _of all time_ are in town, and you want to use us to _keep the media at bay ?_ I will-"

John spotted something strange in between all the scared, apprehensive and cautious faces.

A smiling one.

A fairly pretty boy, nursing a cup of coffee.

 _'Ellis, PRT Tactical & Operations'_

He looked young, too. Far too young for the role his ID said he had.

Narwhal had calmed down a little by now, looking at Teague instead.

"How do you intend to handle this ?"

Technically, she wasn't allowed to order him around like that, but John doubted Teague would put up much of a protest.

Everybody knew about the story between Narwhal and Fortuna. The assassin had murdered her whole team, what with forewarning and all. It must've been pretty traumatizing, he thought, for a woman who thought herself the strongest in the country.

"I'm at my wits end, honestly. I'd happily give up the lead." The man just shrugged at his admission of incompetence.

Narwhal looked around the table, specifically at the locals.

"Which one of you thinks he can manage the PRT in this ?"

It was the boy with the coffee.

Legs crossed, lazily reclining in his seat.

He raised a delicate, gloved hand.

He didn't seem to be as scared by the situation as the rest of the rooms non-cape population was.

"You have a plan, Ellis ?" Narwhal asked him.

Ellis smiled lazily, taking another sip of his coffee.

Narwhal was beginning to look agitated again.

"I, in fact, do."

He didn't explain himself any further.

Was the boy trying to get fired ? Because handling a situation _this_ delicate the way he was doing was a surefire way to get fired.

"I don't really care either way, boy, but I need to know that you won't be in my way. What's your plan ?" Narwhal asked him.

"Well," Ellis began, "I was thinking I'd set up a perimeter, with snipers and all that, and just shoot everything that tries to leave it. Keeping distance, murdering stuff, ya know ?"

Another man, looking angry, began talking. _Toronto_ something, it said on his ID.

John couldn't really make it out.

"You'd be breaking the-"

Ellis interrupted him by laughing. It sounded... _grating_ , was the best way to put it. It made John feel uneasy.

"Breaking the rules ? Because everybody involved in this has always been so _adamant_ about respecting the rules, after all. How big is Vasil's number of capes ? What's Fortuna's death count ? Are you-" Ellis made a stabbing motion at the man with a pen he found nearby, "-telling me we'll just let this all _slip away_ because we're keeping to rules that everybody else ignores ?"

There were a few seconds of tense silence after that, with the man from Toronto looking like he was preparing a rebuttal, before Narwhal interrupted.

"Do it," she just said, looking at Ellis.

Ellis nodded, saluted sloppily.

"I'll get on with it _right now,_ in fact."

He stood up, his chair squeaking loudly as he did, which still didn't wipe the smile from his face. Only made it brighter.

"Right after I've watched the SpongeBob Marathon."

* * *

 **4 days later**

Jean-Paul Vasil hadn't quite known what _fear_ really, actually felt like.

He'd faced fear as a raw, unbridled emotion, all the times his father had been angered by him.

But never quite like this.

The fear that looms over you, like a gigantic shadow, coming closer and closer.

Jean-Paul had never needed to know much about _heroes_ , _villains_ or _capes_ in general.

Everything he wanted was there for him to take, except everything his father didn't want him to have.

He was only twelve, but had already slept with countless people. He'd been high, drunk, on morphine and painkillers.

He'd done all of that without any of the risks it usually posed, by just taking over somebody else.

But in the last seven days, he'd read up a lot on capes.

 _Who'm could I take control of that would help me survive this ?_

 _Why didn't I just leave, like I'd always wanted to ?_

Fortuna, a world famous assassin, was after them. After their father, specifically, but Jean-Paul, from what he'd read, didn't think it mattered. The assassin was known for just killing everybody in the vicinity.

But Jean-Paul was confident, too.

There were more capes here than anybody could expect. Twelve of them, actually.

There was his father.

His sibling and his half siblings.

They'd be a bigger challenge than this Fortuna had ever faced.

And even if he survived all of _that_ , which, Jean-Paul thought, was unlikely, he'd have a plan to deal with him.

Jean-Paul was going to hide under the bed. Study the assassin while he was here. Wait it out while the capes fought, study him as much as his power needed him to, then take control of him.

"But what if I shoot _you_ first ?"

Jean-Paul recoiled in shock, throwing himself to the ground, beginning to scramble backwards.

There was a man there.

 _Who else could it be but... him ?_

"What do you want from me ?" Jean-Paul asked.

Now that he was faced with what he knew was most probably death, he felt fairly... _empty._

Unfeeling. Apathetic.

The man, who was sitting on the bed next to him, tilted his head. Smiled a little.

"It's... difficult to explain, now that I'm trying to see it from your point of view. I guess you could say I hold a grudge. Kind of."

"A grudge ? I've never even met you before."

"No. No, you haven't. But you _would've._ Like, I don't know what _his_ plan was, but apparently, we were going to be teammates."

"Teammates ? Is that it ? You can see the future or something ?"

The man chuckled a little.

"No. That would be much cooler than what I can actually do."

"So what do you do ?"

"I... Hmm... Have you ever tried one of those tinker made drugs ? The ones that're supposed to boost your intelligence or something like that ?"

"Yes. Once. I didn't like it."

Fortuna shrugged.

"It's kind of like that, I guess. My power is a drug. It makes me the smartest, strongest and most powerful human being that was born on this planet-"

The man's choice of words seemed strange to Jean-Paul

 _Strongest human being born on this planet._

Overly specific.

"-with the sideeffect that it kind of eats away at your personality. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Until you're nothing but the drug."

The man looked at the ceiling, shaking his head to collect himself.

"Listen, Jean, I'm gonna go murder everybody now. The whole street is, like, surrounded. Not only do my guys have eyes and ears in the mansion _and_ outside of it, but the PRT has squads stationed around the perimeter and they're just gonna shoot everybody that tries to get away. So your options, right now, are to go out and die by firing squad, which would turn you into a footnote of this story, or you stay here. Wait it out. Maybe you actually _do_ try to take control of me. It'd be an interesting experience, I'm sure."

Jean-Paul looked up at the man. Very regal looking. Suit, tie, a mask that covered just his eyes and parts of his nose. His hair was... gray. Just like his eyes. That didn't look very natural.

"I would be the last survivor," he noted.

He'd be right there. One of the most important people of the night, right after his father.

Fortuna smiled at him, taking out a cigarette from somewhere without even looking and lighting it, taking a deep drag.

Fortuna didn't reply to him, just strolled out the door. Into the mansion.

The door was left slightly open. Jean-Paul began walking towards it.

And then it began.

A single scream, at first.

The sound of a knife, burying itself in flesh.

A gunshot. A second one.

Loud _thumps_ as bodies hit the floor.

The sound of the wall breaking.

Jean-Paul peeked through the slight space in the open door.

Eight bodies were lying on the ground.

Women. Two of them, he knew. They'd been his caretakers, at some point.

One of them had a kitchen knife – one of theirs – embedded in her neck.

Another two had bullet wounds, buried precisely in the center of their foreheads.

One of them had a deep, ugly looking, open wound in her stomach, desperately trying to keep conscious.

Three of the capes were there.

The rest was probably with father.

They didn't look like they'd stand a chance.

Fortuna hadn't even broken a sweat yet, and the three woman looked exhausted. One of them was bleeding, stumbling, panting a little.

Another tried to attack. Fortuna ducked, very slightly, and her strike sailed harmlessly over his head.

He used the moment to stab her with the weird looking knife in his hand. Straight in her throat.

The last sounds she made were gurgling.

Then he pulled out a gun, shot the second while she was distracted.

The one who'd been hurt at the beginning fell to the ground.

 _Poisoning._

Jean-Paul closed the door. The windows. The shutters.

Crawled into his blankets.

The sounds were dampened by his blanket. An occasional gunshot was hearable.

 _The last moments of my life._

* * *

They arrived to a house that could be straight out of a shooter.

Bodies upon bodies lying on the ground, on couches, beds, across tables.

The floor looked like it was flooded by blood.

Fortuna's gut knives, probably.

She didn't care about any of that.

She didn't care about her feet, parts of her legs, getting wet, coated in blood.

She managed to banish the thought that began taking hold of her as she watched into the various children's rooms.

More dead people.

 _That's all he does. All he does is kill. A mindless animal, to be put down at all costs._

He was there.

Both of them were.

She entered the room, dimly noticing that there was much _glass_ lying around. Shards of glass, a window to her left, a glass lamp.

Heartbreaker was lying on the ground, clutching his wound at the far end of the corner.

And in front of him, one of his famous knifes still in hand, was Fortuna.

There were other people there. All of them looked like capes. Probably Heartbreakers personal guard.

They'd failed, obviously.

She didn't care about that, either.

She only had eyes for him.

"Well," he began cheerily, turning around to face her.

"Welcome to my... masterpiece. Did you notice the painting in the basement ? I made it with a lung, three hearts and five eyeballs."

The sight of him made her angry beyond belief. His _happiness_ , his _mood_ made her apocalyptic with rage.

"I'm going to rip you apart," she whispered.

This was why she'd come alone.

She knew that, if she actually caught him in the act, there was no way he would survive.

The only reason he'd survived the last time when he... When he attacked her team, was because she hadn't seen him. Hadn't been there.

This time she was.

"But not immediately. You won't die an easy death, oh no. I'm going to pull you apart. Piece by piece."

Fortuna's smile brightened.

"That sounds pretty extreme. It's like you have a personal grudge or something. Sheesh."

Her anger deepened.

"It doesn't matter what your power is, Fortuna. Telepathy, precognition, whatever, it doesn't matter. Even if you're fucking immune to my power, I'll just bisect the roof and let it crash on you. You _will_ die today. Nobody could survive what I'm going to do to you. No matter what _power_ you have, it won't help you."

He tilted his head, looking amused.

It was enough for her. She created-

Nothing. In that exact moment, her world exploded into pain.

Four sharp spears penetrated the 'scales' she covered herself with, reaching into her skin.

All of them were aimed at her left leg.

Her vision went blurry. She collapsed to the ground, clutching her leg.

She cried out, more out of fury than pain.

Fortuna looked at her as she was writhing on the ground, desperately trying to focus her power.

"You monster ! There's no helping you ! I'm going to fucking kill you ! My team-"

He began walking towards her, roughly taking hold of her chin, making her look into his eyes.

"It's over, Narwhal."

She spat in his face.

He ignored it.

"I have the high ground."

Her eyes widened, a blind fury rising in her.

 _He was quoting Star Wars ?_

She tried to focus her powers again.

 _Chop off his fucking goddamn head._

It didn't work. She swung her fist, instead.

He swatted it away.

"The Chancellor is _evil,_ Narwhal."

She tried to hit him again. It amused him at best.

" _Well from my point of view the Jedi are evil,"_ he squeaked in a feminine voice.

Her anger rose and rose as he began playing out scenes from Star Wars at random, holding her chin with one hand and making her mouth move with his lines.

It rose so much that she just... couldn't take it. She began sobbing, tears welling up in her eyes. She choked, sobbed into his hand, wetting it.

"I _am_ the Senate !" He croaked darkly.

She just continued sobbing, hoping for _anybody_ to come. Any survivor who couid _stop this_ by just drawing his attention or something.

Noone came. Instead, he began taking her in his arms, whispering to her.

"Hold me, Narwhal, like you did by the lake on Naboo; so long ago when there was nothing but our love."

Something interrupted him, then. His earpiece, probably. He shook his head, sighed in sadness.

He looked at her, then.

And left. Just like that.

She fell, face first onto the floor, her tears mixing with blood.

 _Am I going to drown now ? It would be a fitting end._

* * *

He came back with a girl.

She looked to be about fifteen.

"Who's that ?" Cassandra asked in annoyance.

Ellis just smiled.

"This," he began, pushing the girl in front of him, "Is Cherie Vasil."

Cassandra began getting angry. Slammed her glass of water on the table.

"You brought one of the kids that can _manipulate people_ into our home ? What if she-"

Ellis had taken one of his cheap wine bottles in hand, inspecting it in feigned curiosity as Cassandra talked.

"You wouldn't even know if she's affecting you. I can't let her stay-"

The bottle shattered into a thousand pieces. Ellis had slammed it against the edge of the table, letting the shards of glass harmlessly fall against his pants and the floor.

"Our home," he whispered.

"You sound... _patronizing,_ " he noted, his voice uncharacteristically neutral.

He threw away the part of the bottle that was left, letting it fall to the ground. It broke, too.

Cassandra tried to get a word in, her eyes widening as she recognized what was happening.

The neutral tone of his voice, the glass lying on the ground. The atmosphere.

He didn't let her.

Signalled Sarah at the far end of the room via nod of his head.

A spear buried itself in Cassandra's chest.

The oldest, most important member of the Operatives. Dead, just like that.

Tamara knew it wouldn't be wise, but felt the need to ask nonetheless.

"You didn't just kill her because she questioned you, did you ?"

Ellis turned towards her, sending off the girl – Cherie – with Krista, the Second In Command of the Operatives. Cassandra's former protege.

"What if I did ?"

He raised an eyebrow, then.

Tamara just shrugged.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem very... _you._ You may play up the whole crazed savant of murder personality, but I'm not stupid. Every move you make is calculated. Every step you make predetermined. What's the point of killing Cassandra ?"

"Maybe I like Krista more. She's certainly prettier."

Tamara sighed. Raised an eyebrow at him.

"Cassandra is one of the last steps that were needed to take in a... plan, of sorts."

"Of sorts ?"

"Yes. It's not actually something I can prove has worked. I'll just have to hope it did."

She hummed, quietly.

Shrugged again.

"Sex ?"

He pondered it. Shrugged off his clothes.


End file.
